Scoring Off the Field

by Naima Simone

  “What else you got?” he asked, as if he wouldn’t torpedo any future applicant. Well, if she’d had any more applicants for him to torpedo. Damn.

  “Dom one, Tennyson zero.” She jabbed a finger at him. “This isn’t over.”

  A corner of his mouth quirked. “It isn’t my fault you didn’t bring me qualified candidates,” he said, taking the laptop from her and pulling up a new browser window.

  “Bullshit,” she snapped. “I organize your calendar, answer your emails, arrange your travel, and run your errands. It’s not rocket science, and I’m damn sure not the only person who can do it.”

  “Then why haven’t you found anyone competent enough to— What the hell is this?” He leaned closer to the computer, a scowl replacing the smug smile.

  She glanced at the screen. And immediately closed her eyes. Fuck a duck, where was a mudslide, earthquake, or the Rapture when you needed them? Whether the floor cracked open or Jesus Christ came back, she wasn’t picky. Just as long as she could suddenly disappear.

  Seconds later, she lifted her lids, and nope. Still sitting on the couch, and the page for the dating site she’d signed up for three weeks earlier was still there, too. Damn. Note to self: next time, log out, not just minimize.

  “Tennyson,” he growled, and she shifted her attention from the smiling profile picture of Adam Rutheridge, the guy she’d been communicating with for the past several days, to Dom.

  “What?” she asked, opting to go with innocence. Not that she had to explain her decision to give online dating a try. This whole thing fell under the heading of “Not Dom’s Business.” She reached for the laptop, but he nudged her hands away. Heaving a heavy, much aggrieved sigh, she shook her head. “You act like millions of people don’t frequent dating sites every day.”

  “You’re not millions of people,” he pointed out, voice tight and low. “And what do you need this,” he waved a hand at the screen, “for?”

  “Well, unlike you, I don’t have the opposite sex throwing themselves at me in droves,” she pointed out.

  “That’s bullshit,” he countered. “You’re beautiful. Any man would want to date you.”

  Except him. To him she was beautiful like the little sister who would be pretty even with braces, pigtails, and bad acne. The platitude was nice but empty. “Right,” she scoffed. “Which is why all the women you take home are short, have ass for days, and carry about twenty more pounds than they should.” When he scowled, parting his lips to object, she waved him off. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. It’s not like this is a new thing.”

  “These sites are filled with nuts and perverts who like to make lampshades out of women’s skin.”

  She blinked, her lips falling open. “Um, wow. You might want to cut back on Homicide Hunter.”

  “This isn’t a joke.” He jabbed a finger at Adam’s cute blue bowtie dotted with miniature gold poodles. “His user ID is HappilyEverAdam for fuck’s sake,” he snarled.

  She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I thought it was clever and sweet.” When his growl rolled through the room like a foreboding clap of thunder, she held her hands out, palms up. “Give me some credit. It’s not like I’m going to meet him at midnight in an abandoned warehouse. I know the rules. Public place which I’m driving to and from. He can’t exactly skin me alive in a crowded restaurant, can he?” she drawled.

  But her sarcasm bounced against him like a medicine ball…filled with lead.

  An anger that had been directed at her one time in her life—when she’d given her virginity to that asshole frat boy Craig Wesley—darkened his eyes to a broody indigo.

  “Tell me you don’t actually plan on meeting this guy,” he said, his voice even, calm. Ominous.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

  “Forget it. Not happening,” he ordered in the same tone he used to snap out plays on the football field. Hard. Quick. With a full expectation of being obeyed.

  Oh hell no. A matching fury surged within her, hot, swift, and with thorns.

  “As much as you like to believe you’re my brother, you’re not. I don’t need to ask your permission to date or consult you on how to go about it. When you start letting me veto or approve your hit-it-and-quit-its, then we can talk. But until then? Back. Off,” she snapped.

  Those storm-filled eyes narrowed on her, his full lips flattening into a grim line. Silence, thick and alive with tension, thrummed between them. Intensity seemed to emanate from his powerful body, and he studied her with that same penetrating, concentrated focus. The weight of it touched her face with a pressure that was almost tactile. As if his gaze had transformed into a hand that gripped her face between large, calloused fingers, holding her in a firm, implacable grasp.

  Anger had fueled the quick rise and fall of her chest. But something darker, rawer, more carnal slowly replaced it. Lust pumped in and out of her lungs, stroking the underside of her skin in an undulating caress, beading her nipples into tight, aching points. Pooling between her legs and teasing the pulsing flesh there.

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, and the air in her throat sizzled and evaporated. The black, V-neck top she wore seemed too skimpy and too stifling at once. She couldn’t force a word past her suddenly too-tight esophagus as he frowned and returned his scrutiny to her face.

  Too afraid of herself, of her body’s reaction to him, to remain seated on the couch, she launched to her feet. The heels of her ankle boots clicked against the hardwood floors as she crossed the room toward the desk—and safety.

  “So, anyway,” she said, clearing her throat and gathering up her purse and laptop bag. Damn, he still had the laptop. Screw it, she’d get it later. No way in hell was she going back over there to him while her body buzzed like a live wire. “I’ll start looking for more—”

  “What are you wearing?”

  She glanced up, met the frown that still marred his brow, then peered down at herself. What? The neckline of the top dipped lower than those she usually wore. But coupled with the skinny jeans and boots, she looked pretty damn good.

  “What’s the problem?” She held her arms out. “It’s a shirt and jeans.”

  His inspection roamed over her, and it was nonsense, but she could feel the sweep of it from her hair that she’d pulled into a top knot, down her torso and legs, and back up. Her skin might as well as have been bared to the visual touch from the way it tingled. She bit her bottom lip, trapping the moan flirting at the back of her throat inside.

  His hooded stare lowered to her mouth, and the flock of birds in her stomach scattered like buck shot had just exploded over their heads. Frozen, she stood there as that blue gaze slowly lifted and met hers. The same tension that had driven her from the couch darkened his eyes, and for a moment, whispers of excitement and unease curled through her.

  But then, he blinked. And whatever she’d thought she’d glimpsed—more likely imagined—had disappeared. She exhaled.

  “Are you going somewhere? Maybe meeting Mr. HappilyEverAdam tonight?” he pressed, standing.

  Quickly, she resumed packing away her mouse and day calendar. It didn’t require all the extra attention and focus she gave it, but anything was better than ogling her best friend’s body as he crossed the room toward her. Or being caught ogling her best friend’s body…by said best friend.

  “Nope,” she said, belatedly answering his question.

  “When is that supposed to happen?” he asked, handing her the laptop, the casual innocence in his voice not fooling her. At all.

  “None of your business,” she replied in the same breezy tone.

  “Tennyson,” he cajoled, but she shook her head.

  “Forget it.” Finished packing up, she grabbed her bags and gave him a blinding smile that might have contained just a hint of desperation. She needed to get out of his presence as soon as possible before her frayed nerves caused her to do something stupid. Like throw herself at him and beg him to fuck her. “Gotta go, or I’m going
to be late.”

  “Go where?” he insisted, following her out of the office and into the hallway that led to the front of the house.

  “Bye.” She didn’t glance over her shoulder or wave as she jerked the door open and exited as if the hounds of hell nipped at her heels and she was wearing steak stilettoes.

  Only once she pulled out of his wide driveway did she finally relax, exhaling a huge breath of relief.

  For a moment there, when she’d imagined the flicker of heat in his eyes, she’d almost believed that maybe, just maybe, he might feel… She shook her head. He’d killed that fantasy a long time ago. Yet, here she was, actually hoping she’d glimpsed desire for her in his gaze. Only the Good Year blimp with “He’s Just Not That Into You” emblazoned on the side would’ve been a bigger clue that she needed to get away from him as soon as possible. Entertaining the idea that Dom wanted her would be disastrous. She had to find her replacement.

  Immediately.

  Chapter Four

  “Yum,” Tennyson hummed, smacking her lips at the lime with a hint of orange flavor chilling her tongue. She swiped a fingertip through the salted rim of the glass. “What’s this called again?”

  Renee Smith grinned. “A frozen Top Shelf Margarita with Patron Silver tequila. Only the best for you, my friend,” she announced. “I mean, what better way to celebrate your new phase in life than with Margarita Monday at Doyle’s?”

  The bar in Pioneer Square was a favorite hangout for them as well as the other members of their small group—Dom, Ronin, Zephirin, and another friend of theirs, Jason Wilder. Though three of the guys were famous and easily recognized professional football players, they weren’t harassed when they came to the tavern. They were sometimes approached for autographs, but for the most part, the regulars were so used to them, their presence didn’t create much of a stir—a reason they all enjoyed hanging there and didn’t mind traveling the half hour—for Dom and Tennyson, at least—to the bar.

  Currently, just Tennyson, Renee, and Sophia Cruz, Zephirin’s girlfriend and the newest member of their circle, occupied one of the back booths for a girls’ night out.

  “What is that supposed to be?” Sophia pointed to Renee’s drink. The glass contained the same light green liquid as Tennyson’s, but an upturned Corona bottle sat in it like a huge cocktail umbrella.

  “It’s a CoronaRita.” She beamed, taking a healthy sip before offering the glass to the gorgeous app developer. “Want to try it?”

  “Uh, no.” Sophia shook her head, the blue tips of her dark hair catching the low lighting of the room. “I’m the DD, remember?” she muttered, picking up her beer bottle, obviously still disgruntled about her designated driver status.

  “Right. That damn short straw.” Tennyson snickered and extended her arm across the table to Renee. “Gimmee. I’ll take her sip.”

  “Hell no,” Renee objected, pulling the glass toward her chest and holding it in a protective gesture. The bottom of the bottle bumped her nose. “You’re a lightweight. This will stick your dick in the dirt fast.”

  Sophia sputtered, quickly snatching up a napkin and dabbing at her mouth and chin. “Stick your dick in the dirt?” She howled with laughter. “Is that a euphemism for getting wasted?”

  Renee grinned, nodding. “I learned it from that guy from Alabama I was seeing. He was boring as hell, but he had the cutest phrases. And a big dick that bent to the left. That I’ll miss even more than his southern colloquialisms.” She sighed, removing the Corona.

  While Sophia sputtered into her beer, Tennyson snickered, admiration sliding through her. And not just because Sophia, owner of her own app-development company, and Renee, a public relations consultant for the Warriors franchise, were successful professionals. Both of them wore confidence like the latest New York Fashion Week creation and were independent and strong. Everything Tennyson strived to be one day.

  Hopefully, “one day” would arrive sooner rather than later.

  “Okay, a toast.” Sophia held up her beer, Tennyson and Renee quickly following her lead. “To Tenny. May you kick ass in your new start and career. Well, not literally since, y’know, you’ll be working with kids. But then again, maybe, if you come across some really horrible parents…” She scowled, as if envisioning these horrible parents.

  “Alrighty then,” Renee drawled, clinking her glass to Tenny’s and Sophia’s. “As Pollyanna was saying,” she snickered, “we’re thrilled for you, girlfriend. And it’s about time!”

  Tennyson sipped her margarita, both the alcohol and her adoration for the two women leaving a warm glow behind. “Thank you, guys. At least you’re happy for me. Can’t say the same for Dom.” She snorted. “Let’s just say he wasn’t very receptive to the idea of me leaving.”

  “You’ve been his PA for years,” Renee objected, her drink sloshing close to the salt-encrusted rim as she set it hard on the table. “Your life can’t revolve around him forever.”

  “I pointed that out,” Tennyson added. “And his reply? We’re a ‘team,’” she said, scrunching her fingers in air quotes.

  “True, he probably had a What the Hell moment, but I bet part of it was concern, too. And because he’s a man, just didn’t know how to voice it.” Sophia tilted her head. “Aren’t you a little worried, too? You have to be a little scared stepping out there on your own after so long. God knows, I was.”

  Tennyson intended to walk away from the only safety net she’d ever known. Hell yes, she was worried. And terrified. Especially considering a new job might mean moving hundreds of miles away from Seattle, her friends, and Dom.

  To Dayton, Ohio.

  The decision to apply for a position with Dayton’s Offices of Families and Children hadn’t been made on a whim. Considering her history, majoring in social work had been a no-brainer for her. And the opportunity to work in and try to bring change to the very system she’d been a part of? The idea that she could potentially protect and help kids like her had inspired her to apply.

  Still, she’d spent months battling insecurity, fear, doubt, and an avalanche of “what ifs” over it. What if she couldn’t make it on her own without his strength and influence? What if the loneliness of not having the one constant in her life sabotaged her determination to start over? What if Dom suddenly realized he was madly in love with her? What if she failed to find that special someone for her because she judged every man against her best friend?

  She silently snorted. The first two questions she had no answers for, but the last two?

  Not a chance in hell, and if the past was anything to go by, a distinct possibility.

  But while she couldn’t change Dom’s eternal come-over-here-so-I-can-give-you-a-noogie, big-brother feelings toward her, she could do something about deeming every man Quasimodo when compared to Dom.

  Distance. It was her last hope to get over this futile love for him and to save their friendship. Because, eventually, that love would devolve into resentment. Envy already scored her every time she arrived at his house to greet the latest one-night stand performing the walk of shame out the front door. Or when she caught sight of him pushed up against another woman, his mouth covering hers, his hands skimming her body. When those same women freely touched him with flirtatious strokes to his chest and arms or whispered in his ear, knowing their attention wouldn’t be rejected but welcomed.

  No, before she let that envy twist into jealous anger and ruin their relationship, she would leave first.

  “Of course I’m nervous,” she finally replied to Sophia’s question. “But I can’t let fear keep me from having a life. Dom doesn’t understand that.”

  “Why don’t you just tell Dom you love him?” Sophia asked.

  The soft question doused Tennyson in icy shock, breaking over her in a frigid wave. How did Sophia…? Tennyson had never confessed her deepest secret to anyone. God only knew because He was, well…God.

  “You’re risible.” Tennyson laughed, the sound high and shaky even to her ears. She tried to
play it off, dismissing her friend’s words with a flick of her fingers.

  “I’m not trying to be funny,” Sophia countered with a flash of a smile. “That’s the definition, right? You’ve used that word before.”

  “Wait, what?” Renee stiffened, slowly lowering her glass to the table. “Love Dom? What’s she talking about?”

  Her lips forming a small “o,” Sophia glanced from Renee then to Tennyson. “Um, she didn’t know? I thought…” She fell against the back of the booth, lifting her bottle to her mouth. “I’m just going to…” And took a deep swallow.

  Renee’s laser-sharp focus remained on Tennyson. “You’re in love with Dom? And why am I the last one to know?”

  Tennyson spread her hands wide over the table, her palms up. “I didn’t—”

  “She didn’t tell me,” Sophia jumped in, shooting Tennyson an apologetic glance. “I thought you knew. I mean, one look at the two of them together, and I guessed. It was obvious to me…” She trailed off, wincing. “Sorry, Tenny.”

  Fire blazed up her neck and streamed into her face. If she could sink under the table and find a crack in the floor to crawl into, she’d live as a troll right there in the bar’s back booth.

  One look at the two of them together, and I guessed. It was obvious to me…

  Sophia’s words pinged against Tennyson’s pride like rocks striking a windshield, leaving webbed cracks and fractures behind. Who else knew? Did Dom? Oh fuck… Panic and horror competed for dominance in her chest.

  “Dom doesn’t know,” Sophia gently murmured, reading Tennyson’s mind. Sophia covered Tenny’s balled fist with her hand, squeezing lightly. “Zephirin would’ve mentioned it.”

  The assurance alleviated only a little of the mortification still setting her face ablaze. Zeph knew. Did that mean Ronin…? She immediately dismissed the thought. If Ronin did, that meant everyone did. The man’s mouth flapped harder than a loose shutter in a Kansas tornado.

  “I wish someone would’ve mentioned it to me,” Renee interjected. “Why didn’t you, Tenny?” Her friend couldn’t hide the accusation or hurt in her voice, and both had Tennyson reaching across the table for Renee’s hand.