Snap Decision: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Series Book 2)

by Jami Davenport

  Finally, he heaved himself onto a barstool and snapped his fingers. “Beer.”

  Slipping behind the bar, she indulged in a brief fantasy regarding where she’d like to shove that beer, but she’d already done enough damage for one night. Instead, she slid a beer across the counter, one of those cheap brands he hated. He grabbed it and drank it down in one long gulp.

  She slid another cheap beer to him. He frowned at the label and drank it a little slower.

  “That was low.”

  “Sorry, I forgot you liked dark beer.” She emptied the tray of dirty glasses into the dishwasher, refusing to make eye contact.

  “I meant the hit to my groin.” He groaned, as if he’d get any sympathy from her.

  “You were in my space. You’re lucky your balls aren’t hanging in my trophy room.”

  “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood.” He shifted his weight, as if having difficulty finding a comfortable position.

  “Don’t mess with me again. I don’t like it.”

  “Really? Well, I don’t like being manipulated.”

  “Would you have signed autographs if we’d asked outright?”

  “Fuck no.” Tyler dropped a buck into the cuss jar. “I don’t do this kind of shit. It’s bad for my asshole image. People don’t want to see me as a good guy. Ruins their preconceived notions.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Tyler narrowed his eyes to a steely glare. “I’m falling in dislike with you.”

  “I’m already there. It’s nice to know we’re on the same page.”

  “It’s not just a page, it’s a whole book.”

  “Like you would know. Have you ever read an entire book?”

  “Sweetheart, I can read you like a book just fine.”

  Infuriated, Lavender turned away to tend to her other customers. She didn’t know how she’d survive two more months on the same island with this insufferable jerk. Even worse, how she’d keep him out of her bed.

  Chapter 8—Goal-Line Stand

  Over the next several days, Tyler gained a new understanding of island time. He still didn’t have TV, phone, or internet service. The roofers he’d hired to repair the leaking roof showed up for work around eleven, took a two-hour lunch, and left about two thirty. The temperamental furnace worked when it wanted, and the serviceman he’d called seemed in no hurry to take a look at it. Fireplaces didn’t come close to keeping this mausoleum heated, even though he kept a fire lit in the den and master bedroom. At least the weather cooperated and hovered in the low fifties and high forties.

  Even worse, he’d been reduced to chopping wood every morning to feed the hungry fireplaces. He hadn’t chopped wood since he’d been a kid. Funny how things came full circle.

  One advantage of being on an island and out of contact with the rest of the world was that his coaches, teammates, agent, and the press couldn’t reach him. They’d left tons of messages on his cell, but Tyler ignored every one of them. He didn’t want to talk about football or his future. He didn’t want to speculate on whether Seattle’s finest would press charges. He couldn’t answer their questions because he didn’t have any answers himself. On the subject of the rumored DUI, they’d believe what they wanted to believe, no matter what he said.

  He struggled to come to terms with his future and his past. He needed more time to clear his head and figure things out.

  So far, the only thing he’d figured out was that he wanted his sexy, sassy neighbor flat on her back on his mattress, or on her hands and knees, or bent over the back of a chair, or against the shower wall with her legs wrapped around his waist. Pretty much anywhere as long as they both got satisfaction.

  Oh, fuck yeah, he wanted his neighbor. Bad. Really bad.

  In his fantasies, he stripped Lavender bare and licked, sucked, nipped, and kissed his way around every curve and valley on her hot little body. He ravaged those full, sexy lips until they were swollen and quivering. Whisker burns reddened her cheeks. Her gorgeous tits begged for his mouth and his hands. Just for fun, he punished her ass with a well-deserved spanking. After which, her shapely legs spread wide for him. His hungry cock slid into her warm folds and found heaven on earth. Then he fucked her senseless all night long. She dropped to her hands and knees and prayed to his dick, pleading for more. He gave it to her. Over and over again.

  In his fantasies.

  Unfortunately, his fantasies weren’t getting any closer to reality. Despite a few moments of weakness, she resisted him. Women never resisted him, not for long. How the hell did she do it?

  Just thinking about her hardened his cock to the point of physical pain. His dick seemed to be the only part of him still alive and functioning as normal. Cold showers were becoming the norm, and not just because the hot water heater proved to be flakier than the furnace.

  Tyler needed a release from sexual deprivation and boredom or he’d go crazy. Despite his many faults, lazy wasn’t one of them. He’d never been one to sit on his ass for long. Looking around at the once-grand mansion, he made a decision. If he couldn’t rely on the workers, he’d start the renovation process himself. Using the same obsessive zeal he’d once applied to dissecting an opponent’s defense, Tyler funneled his pent-up energy toward rectifying the mansion’s state of disrepair

  After a trip to town for supplies, he started hand sanding the rail on the oak banister. The chore required infinite patience and days of rubbing, but hell, time happened to be something he possessed in spades for the next couple months.

  Cougar sat nearby, a couple steps up, as if Tyler needed supervision. The cat alternated between licking his ass and overseeing Tyler’s progress.

  A few hours later, Tyler’s back hurt like hell, his knees started to give out, and dust filled his nostrils. Tired of crouching on the stairs, he stood and stretched his cramped muscles. His gaze swept around the grand entryway, taking in the one-of-a-kind woodwork and funky interior of the old mansion. One of the previous inhabitants of the place, probably Uncle Art, had painted the rooms some bizarre colors, including painting this once-elegant banister lime green.

  Thank God the previous inhabitants’ intentions outweighed their ambition. Most of the woodwork hadn’t been desecrated. They’d done plenty of other weird stuff, like ripping out all the master bathroom fixtures and never replacing them, enclosing the back porch with plexiglass by pounding nails into the siding, and ripping up a three-foot square section of teak flooring in the den.

  Standing back, he admired his work. And it was work, countless hours of painstaking sanding in all the crevices and corners. The majority of his friends and acquaintances considered him as shallow as a piece of paper, a bona fide asshole. They’d never believe his appreciation for the details that made this old mansion special or fathom that he’d enjoy restoring an old place like this. Of course, he’d prove them right and sell it in the end for a handsome profit, placing the almighty dollar higher than any family legacy. Why was he even bothering with the banister? Too costly to be completely renovated, Twin Cedars would be razed by the next owner and replaced with soulless condos.

  A fucking shame, actually. His ancestors probably shook their fists at him from heaven. Or possibly hell.

  Tyler’s great-great-great-grandfather, Jackson Harris, had built Twin Cedars in the early 1900s as a home for his family. A timber magnate, Harris amassed quite a bit of wealth until he retreated to this island to escape the pressures of his Seattle life. Over the years, the estate stayed in the Harris family’s possession, even though it’d been leased out for various purposes. It’d operated as an inn with a bar, café, and small marina. It’d also served a stint as a Christian retreat, a hotel, and a home to different branches of the Harris clan, including an eccentric spinster aunt who liked to skinny-dip in the bay, beat the local good ol’ boys at poker, and scandalize the neighbors. Hell, he’d even heard rumors it’d been a brothel briefly. Maybe that explained the colors.

  In the near future, he’d be responsible for erasing
a century of family history by reducing this mansion to rubble.

  He was no longer sure how he felt about that.

  Tyler sank onto the stairs and rested his hands on his knees. He surveyed the two-story entryway with its huge chandelier. This place had withstood the test of time. Would he? How would he be remembered? What would friends and family say? What would be his legacy? Great quarterback, but a poor excuse for a human being?

  When did it start to fucking matter?

  Tyler’s mind morphed back to the moment a dying Ryan asked him to find his absentee mother:

  “I need you to find my mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yeah. Please, Ty. I need to know where she is. I want to see her before…before…well, you know.”

  “Why didn’t you ask Derek?”

  “Because I want the truth. Derek’s too nice. He’d never tell me the truth if it was bad news.”

  “And I would?”

  “Yeah. You’re a tough guy. A badass. You say what you think and to hell with everyone else. I don’t want anyone worrying about my feelings. I need to know.”

  “You think you’ll get that from me?”

  “Yeah, I will because you won’t be concerned about hurting me. You’ll just do the job. You take care of yourself; nobody else matters.”

  Swiping a hand across his face, Tyler rose to his feet. He glanced at his worthless cell sitting on the antique hall tree. By now he most likely had a dozen messages from his agent, but he couldn’t access a one until he drove to town. The guy must be wetting his boxers in fear his star client might be on the verge of suspension, or even worse—retirement. After all, where does a guy go when he’s hit the top of the peak? Twice. Get out while the getting’s good, or stay until they kick your ass out ’cause you’re so old no one wants you?

  Tyler never wanted to be the object of anyone’s pity. Never.

  Besides, he didn’t know what the hell he was considering. He was still young, only twenty-eight, and healthy, but he’d lost his passion for the game. That fire in his belly. That inexplicable something that drove him to be the best at all costs.

  Right now, he felt nothing, not just about football but about his life. Inside, he was one big empty zero. Refinishing this banister or ogling Lavender’s ass gave him more satisfaction than his last Super Bowl win.

  Picking up the sandpaper, he rubbed harder on the solid oak and used his frustration to fuel his ambition.

  * * * * *

  Lavender gathered all the glasses onto a tray and wiped the table clean. Behind her, Tyler nursed his beer. She felt his eyes on her butt almost like a caress. Holding the tray, she turned back to the bar and filled more drink orders. She was hyperaware of Tyler behind her, and that the only thing separating their bodies was the counter. Distracted, she overfilled a beer glass. Beer ran down the counter onto the floor. Behind her, a soft chuckle raised her hackles.

  “What do you find amusing?” She wrung the towel in her hands and wished it were his neck.

  His blue eyes lit up with a wicked pleasure. “I make you nervous.” His deep voice tugged at something deep inside her.

  “Bullshit.”

  He held out the cuss jar. Lavender dug in her pockets and crammed a buck in the overflowing jar. “That’ll be two bucks. One for cussing and one for lying.”

  “There’s no penalty for lying. If there was, you’d be broke.”

  He rubbed several days’ worth of stubble decorating his strong chin. “So you admit to the lying part.”

  “I admit to nothing, except that you annoy the hell out me.” Lavender wiped the beer from the counter and bent down to clean the puddle on the floor. When she straightened, she locked eyes with her insufferable neighbor.

  “Nice view.” He sat back on the barstool. A smug smile spread those sensuous lips apart and revealed perfect white teeth.

  “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  “And miss out on all this fun? Not on your life, sweetheart.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. Despite her best intentions, she leaned toward him. “I never back down from a challenge, and you’re one damn fine challenge.”

  Grappling with herself, Lavender put her hands on the counter and pushed her body backward a step.

  “Go away.” The tremor in her voice didn’t add much bite to her words. He got to her, big-time, and she couldn’t seem to do a damn thing about it.

  Tyler laughed, the kind of deep belly laugh that sucked others into his web. “Not until you and I have taken care of our unfinished business.” He grabbed her hand and rubbed the sensitive spot on the underside of her wrist. She shuddered and yanked her hand away.

  “If I believed once would be enough to get you off my back, I’d gladly swallow my scruples for one night.”

  “One night with me is never enough, darlin’. I’m a greedy man. I have plans for you. Plans that’ll fill up the next two months.”

  “You are the most egotistical, maddening, obnoxious man I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you. I work hard at it. It’s nice to see my efforts appreciated.” Standing, Tyler guzzled the last of his beer, sketched a salute in her direction, and wandered over to a table. Lavender watched him go, torn between wishing Tyler would hustle his nice ass back to the mainland and wishing he’d stay.

  Like iron to a magnet, he pulled her in, teased her with his intense blue eyes, charmed her with his ready smile, came on to her like a master. It was the master part that bothered her. A master at seduction. The more she resisted, the harder he campaigned. The man thrived on competition. She’d unwittingly created a competitive atmosphere for a man who loved the chase as much as the capture.

  Tyler signaled to her with a wave of his hand. “I’ll take another beer, Lav.”

  She stiffened and studied him for a moment. If she cut him off, maybe he’d go home, and she’d dodge a bullet for one more night. She crossed the room and set a glass of water in front of him.

  He blinked and looked up in surprise. “What the fuck is this?”

  “You’ve had enough.”

  “What? I’ve only had two.”

  “That’s more than enough.”

  “Why? I’m being a good boy. Wait. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You like my bad-boy side better.”

  “You only have a bad-boy side. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

  “There goes that lying thing again.”

  “You’ve had enough to drink because I’ve had enough of you. And my name is Lavender.”

  “How about, uh, El for the L in Lavender?”

  “How about not.” She wiped the table, snapping his hand with the towel.

  He jerked his hand back. “What the fuck was that for?”

  She leaned toward him. “I don’t like jocks, remember?”

  “Awww, darlin’, give me a fucking chance.”

  “In your dreams.” She held out the jar. He had three dollars ready for her. “We’ll be able to build a new high school with the money you’re putting in this jar.”

  Tyler’s gaze slid down her body. “You really do have a nice—”

  “You are an ass.” She almost smiled. Despite her reservations about him as a person, she enjoyed their verbal sparring as much as he did.

  “Thank you. I work fucking hard at it.” He dropped another buck in the jar. His eyes danced with pleasure. Instead of getting rid of him, she’d done the opposite. He didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere for a while. In fact, he seemed pretty darned complacent.

  “You should work on that potty mouth of yours.”

  “You think I have a potty mouth?”

  “Uh, duh. Show a little class.”

  Tyler frowned, and his brows drew together in a tight line, as if she’d offended him.

  “I’ll bet you can’t go a week without saying the F word.” She threw out the challenge before she’d given it much thought.

  “Really? What’s the bet?” He sat up straighter, looking intrigued and wicked
.

  “A hundred dollars toward the veteran hall’s improvement fund.”

  He scratched his chin, drawing her attention to his strong, square jawline. “That’s pretty steep.”

  “Pocket change to you.” She stared at the dark stubble on his face and imagined how it’d feel scraping across her nipples. Lavender fanned herself. One of the brothers must have cranked the heat again.

  Tyler’s knowing smirk irritated her. He lowered his voice. “What do I win?” The gravel in his voice wet her panties. She tingled in places she didn’t know she could tingle.

  “You won’t win.”

  “I told you. I’m a competitive man.”

  “How about a kiss?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before her brain engaged.

  Tyler considered the challenge she’d laid on the table. His patent slow, sexy grin slid across his face. He dropped his voice to a low rumble and arched one eyebrow. “Tongue and all?”

  “Yes. Just one kiss. Nothing more.” She walked back to the bar and tossed a sassy grin she didn’t feel over her shoulder. Inside, she cringed at her stupid dare. She couldn’t afford to lose for more reasons than money. He followed her, obviously intrigued.

  “Trust me. You won’t be able to stop with just one. I’m that good.”

  Only a delusional woman would argue with that statement. “So am I.” Her smart mouth needed to go back in a cell where it belonged. She’d just committed herself to a kiss, tongue and all, assuming she lost, then admitted she’d most likely go further.

  And, damn, she wanted to go further.

  “It’s a deal then. We start right now.” Consulting his watch, Tyler Harris grinned at her, his eyes dark with an animal need, which clenched her insides into a knot and set her libido on fire. Her mind slid into a quick fantasy with his hot, sweat-soaked body sliding across hers while his cock got acquainted with her pussy. She suspected his cock matched his giant ego in size and stamina.