Harley Brennan, Running Back

by Jean C. Joachim

  But the cheery brightness did nothing to lighten her mood. Humiliation still burned in her blood. Her face stung from the epithets thrown at her. No one had yelled at her or called her names like Dan had since she had told her father she wanted to study design. She realized she’d broken the rules, and in a very public way, still, name-calling, cursing, and berating were unnecessary. She had been ready to take her punishment, but Dan’s response had been above and beyond, in her judgment.

  The fact that he planned to ruin her career sucked the breath from her lungs. How could anyone get that crazy mad over one moment of out-of-control passion? It wasn’t like she and Harley had planned it. Of course, Dan wouldn’t know that. Still, being vindictive enough to ruin someone professionally was over the top. At least, Shyla thought so.

  By now, Gunther Quill, the most powerful producer in Hollywood, knows all about me. My career is finished. I shouldn’t speak to Harley, who’s going to be proposing to someone else in a couple of weeks. I’d only make things worse. I need to let him go. Now, I have nothing.

  She boarded the train, napping in fits and starts for the hour and a half ride. When it pulled into the station, she hauled her suitcase and her heavy heart out on the platform. The sight of her best friend, Penny Davis, waiting for her, warmed her. Then, the waterworks started. Able to contain the emotion eating at her guts for the entire trip, Shyla could no longer hold back.

  Sadness burst forth. She cried so hard she couldn’t see Penny approaching. Before she could take a breath, the tall woman had her enveloped in a warm hug. Shy rested her head against her friend’s shoulder while sobs slowed into hiccups and gulping air eased into a long, shuddering breath. Penny patted her back and whispered soothing words.

  Finally, the designer stepped away. “My career is over. I’ve lost Harley for good…”

  “I’m so sorry, Shy.”

  “But I had the most amazing sex ever.”

  Penny’s sympathetic expression dissolved into laughter. Shyla smiled through her tears.

  “Let’s get you home. I’ve got hot chocolate waiting.” That was their go-to drink when either one was upset over a break up or a lost gig.

  Shyla loaded her suitcase into the trunk of the SUV, and Penny chauffeured them to her grand home nestled sweetly on fifteen acres. In the back, about half the length of a football field from the house, was a charming guest cottage. The cozy dwelling had one beautifully decorated, country-style bedroom, a tiny kitchen, and an elegant combination living/dining room with a fireplace. Shyla had stayed there before.

  “With the baby, I thought you’d prefer the guesthouse. It’s quieter.”

  “Whatever works for you.”

  They schlepped up the steps. Mark Davis, Penny’s husband and the star quarterback for the Delaware Demons, not to mention Harley Brennan’s best friend, was holding the baby and rocking her on his shoulder when they entered.

  Shyla met little Emily Davis. The baby’s eyes were as blue as her parents’, and her wisp of hair was blonde. Mark put the beautiful infant in the baby seat, where she promptly fell asleep. Penny passed out mugs of hot chocolate and placed a plate of delectable chocolate chip cookies on the kitchen table.

  Halfway through her drink, Shyla’s phone rang. It was her cousin, Grant Hollings, the man who had recommended her to Gunther Quill.

  “Hey, Shy. What happened in St. Thomas?”

  She took her call into the living room for privacy and explained everything in as little detail as possible. Grant, who had sounded annoyed at first, became sympathetic.

  “I’m so sorry, Grant. Honestly. I didn’t realize this would ricochet onto you too. I hope Cara isn’t pissed or getting any crap from Gunther.”

  “No, no, he needs her too much right now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “You should call him and clear the air.”

  She shuddered. “I’m scared.”

  “I know. If I was there, I’d hold your hand.”

  “Like getting TB tests in school when we were kids?”

  “Exactly. Sending you a hug. Cara does too. This will pass, and you’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks. Love you both.”

  Grant’s words soothed her, but she didn’t believe him. Things like this didn’t pass with Gunther Quill. Her career was damaged, if not downright over. She rejoined her friends and tried to regain some good cheer.

  Mark put his hand on hers. “Harley called me. He feels bad.”

  “He left a message on my phone.”

  “I believe him. You’ll be okay. He will too,” Mark said.

  “He’ll find someone and settle down and have three kids.”

  “I wish that someone was you,” Mark replied, shooting her a warm smile.

  With a wobble in her voice, she managed to reply, “So do I.”

  Her cell dinged with a text. It was Gunther Quill’s number.

  “Time for me to pay the piper. Groveling is not my strong suit.”

  “Do whatever you have to,” Penny said.

  “It’s my own fault. I read the contract. I signed it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn’t. But it was Harley. Guess I didn’t think about getting caught. Geez, it was two in the morning, for God’s sake! Who’s up at that hour?”

  “Dan and Harley, obviously,” Penny said.

  Shyla grinned for a second before returning to her task. With a trembling hand, she punched in the numbers on her phone. “Mr. Quill, please.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Oh, I think he’s gonna want to talk to me. Please tell him it’s Shyla Hollings.”

  She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “Gunther?”

  * * * *

  Harley moseyed down the hall, delaying his arrival at lunch for as long as possible. He stopped in the archway to the dining room, surveying the situation. There were six women filling plates at the buffet. They took seats around the pool. All the luscious bodies in bikinis tempted him, like fine chocolates in a candy store.

  But this wasn’t like being single in the real world. Nope. In the real world, he could bed whoever was willing, with no thought of tomorrow. Here, he couldn’t just hook up with someone without committing to at least keeping her on the show one more week, if not longer. Besides, there were cameras everywhere, lurking, waiting, and watching to catch every faux pas, every misstep, every pass, or secret tryst.

  He cringed inside at the idea that his parents, or even the guys on the team, could watch him screw up or sneak off for some hot sex with one of these babes. The whole world was watching—or that’s the way it seemed. Harley had to be aware of his behavior at all times. He didn’t even allow himself to stare for more than ten seconds at provocative cleavage, displayed to lure him into going over the line. Nope. No staring, no panting, no drooling, and no sex. This gig is not what it’s cracked up to be.

  His brain turned off the switch to his libido and reminded him that this was about love, not lust. Arguing with himself that the two went together, he still lost. Lust would have to come later. He sighed, taking in the landscape with longing in his heart. How was he going to make this about love when he’d already lost his heart?

  A low rumble from his belly reminded him it was time to eat. He picked up a plate, but viewed the food with no appetite. The women flocked around him, giving him suggestions on what to take, babbling about silly, mundane things, like the temperature of the water in the pool, and occasionally shoving each other out of the way. They did it surreptitiously, but he noticed. A running back was nothing if not observant. He could spot a hole opening up in the defense before most everyone else. And he’d be there, putting on the speed to squeak through and run like hell.

  No one pulled things over on Harley Brennan. He noted who was pushing whom, and who had a fake smile, but shot a nasty glance at another woman. He didn’t like that kind of behavior. And although he felt sympathy for their predicament—trying to get noticed with so much incredible competition around—the one
s he noticed were the confident ones who didn’t let it get to them. Those women—the ones who let others have time with him without pouting, who were polite to everyone all the time, just like Shyla would be—grabbed his attention.

  He marveled at the friendships that grew up between some of the girls. His first two choices, Vanessa and Cathy, had become chummy. He liked that, though he had to erase images of a threesome with the ladies. It wasn’t easy. Hanging around all these half-naked women, while the memory of his tryst with Shyla boiled in his loins, made him horny as hell.

  He found a shady spot by the pool and sat down to eat. One by one, the young women came over and sat across from him or beside him. While he ate, they regaled him with stories—bragging, actually—about their achievements, always hinting at why they would be the best life partner for him.

  After lunch, there was free time, so they went swimming. A couple took off their tops, sending Harley into hyper-self-control mode. Finally, he had to leave. He retreated to his room and switched on the television. First, he called Trunk Mahoney, who didn’t have time to chat. Then, he dialed Mark Davis.

  “So, which one are you going to pick?”

  “I don’t know. Anyway, I couldn’t tell you if I did. Wish I didn’t have to pick anyone. Wish I could come home now.”

  “With all that free travel? All expenses paid? Hot and cold running babes? Bet they’d all sleep with you if you crooked your little finger their way.”

  “It’s not like that, Mark. I have to, to maintain control.”

  “You mean no sex? Damn! Wasn’t that the reason to do it in the first place?”

  “Finding love was the reason. Shy was gone. I’d given up. I need a partner.”

  “Marriage is great. When it’s the right girl.”

  “You’re happy, right?”

  “Never been happier.”

  “Even with the baby, you still have sex, right?”

  “To be honest, not as often as before. But when Emily gets a little older, we’ll get back on track. Hard for you to believe, old man, but there’s more to life than sex.”

  “Really? From the guy who fucked everything that walked?”

  Mark chuckled. “That was a long time ago. I have a life now.”

  “I want one of those too,” Harley replied.

  “You’ll get there. Keep it in your pants and take a good, honest look at each girl. Then, pick the one who is the nicest to you and everyone else.”

  “That’s your advice? Nice?”

  “Yeah. Nice lives well.”

  “You’re the master.”

  Mark laughed. “Well, maybe not the master, but I married a nice woman. It makes the day-to-day stuff easier. Trust me.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. Nice. Gotcha.”

  “Not one of those girls who’s catty and bitching all the time. A go-with-the-flow girl.”

  “I’ll be sure to put that in my questionnaire.”

  “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s you, Harley. What woman in her right mind would want to marry you?” Mark chuckled.

  “I’m great marriage material.”

  His friend snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “You’re no help at all.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve got to do this one on your own, buddy.”

  “Fingers crossed,” Harley replied.

  “Fingers and everything else.”

  The running back hung up the phone and stretched out on the bed. He was supposed to be getting ready for his big date with Cassandra. They were going deep-sea fishing on a huge yacht. They’d be having dinner there too. He loved the fishing part. Cassandra was a hot brunette he’d been curious about. She seemed too sweet to be true. Tonight, he’d find out. If the date went well, she’d move into his top four. If not, she was going home.

  Sending women home had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Crushing their hopes, humiliating them on national television—well, it was something a true gentleman never did. That’s what his father had taught him, and Harley had lived by it.

  Even though he had been a womanizer, he’d never been mean, never treated a woman badly or with disrespect. Perhaps he didn’t call again, but he would never lead her to believe he would. Harley Brennan had been totally up front about being interested in a steamy evening, but not a commitment. If a woman passed on that, he’d hide his regret, bow, smile, and move on to the next. So, reducing a woman to tears by sending her home ate his guts out.

  He thought he’d get used to it. Some of them were asking for it, and he didn’t regret his decision then. But some of the innocents, who simply weren’t his cup of tea, broke down when they didn’t get a heart, and that killed him.

  A knock yanked him from his thoughts. “Who is it?”

  “Dan.”

  Harley opened the door. “What’s up?”

  “Just making sure you’re getting ready for your big date tonight.”

  “Of course I am. Looking forward to it too. I love fishing.”

  “Cassandra’s pretty hot. If anything should, uh, happen, on board? Well, that’s your business, and hers. Not mine.”

  “So, you’re giving me permission to have sex with Cassandra on the boat?”

  “I’m not encouraging or discouraging anything. You’re two consenting adults.”

  “And what do I do about the cameras? Invite them in for a threesome?”

  Dan laughed. “Good one, Harley. The cameras aren’t everywhere.”

  “Oh, yes, they are. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? A nice, juicy make out scene that gets transferred to the bedroom?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt the ratings.” Dan cocked an eyebrow.

  “They have a word for that…”

  “Hey, it’s not my idea. I’m just sayin’… I mean, after last night. Just that tonight, with a contestant, it’s a green light, buddy.”

  “So, Shyla was off limits, but Cassandra isn’t. Got it.”

  Dan raised his hands. “Your decision.”

  “And hers?”

  “And hers.”

  “And fifty million viewers…I gotta shower.” Harley opened the door, and Dan took the hint.

  The hot water cascading down his body reminded him of making love with Shyla in the steamy hot tub. He wondered about Cassandra. Always confident with women, Harley began to doubt his instincts. Was he right to be favoring Vanessa and Cathy and to be suspicious of Cassandra? Were they simply acting and he was falling for it, or were they genuinely nice ladies? Nice! There’s that word again.

  Why would anyone want to trick him? Was he a prize? Were some of the women goaded by the competition aspect? Was this all about winning for them? Harley got that. He understood winning. His life was all about being top dog and doing whatever was necessary to stay there. But this was different, wasn’t it? He wasn’t a football game, he was a person. Warm, with blood flowing in his veins, and feelings.

  Then, there were two more “crazies”—women who were nut jobs, which the show persuaded him to keep for entertainment, making the decisions over who stayed and who went even harder. He’d put his foot down and sent home one of them at the last ceremony. Tonight was make or break it for Cassandra. The other lunatic he had been forced to keep was leaving.

  He soaped up his chest, rinsed off, and reached for a towel. He had to win a terrific lady.

  With Shyla out of the picture, he needed the next best one. Being alone had been eating at him. He wanted to come home to someone. He wanted a wife and a warm meal waiting for him after practice or a game, like the other guys. He missed calling a woman who loved him to commiserate about a loss or share a victory.

  He combed his hair, slapped on aftershave, and tied his shoes. He took a breath then opened the door. Tonight was about moving forward. Harley hardened his resolve. He’d do whatever he had to on the program to get what he needed—a home life with a great partner.

  * * * *

  At the dock, he and
Cassandra climbed aboard a small boat to be ferried out to the larger vessel. Harley alighted from the launch first then extended his hand for the slim brunette. She was wearing totally inappropriate shoes. She fell into his arms for a moment. He slipped the high heels off her feet, tossed them onto the deck, and helped her climb the ladder barefoot. She giggled and shot him a sexy look.

  No, honey, I’m not into feet.

  He followed her, his sneakers gripping the rungs securely. The yacht was amazing. The teak decks were gorgeous, the view breath taking. Attached to the stern was a line holding a much smaller boat. Harley spied the chairs and holders for fishing rods. A member of the crew offered Bloody Mary’s and a small bowl of dip with celery.

  The captain greeted them and explained they’d be motoring out to where the best fishing was, and then the adventure would begin. Cassandra slipped her hand in his as they sat in the stern while the yacht made headway toward their goal. Harley attempted conversation, but the motors and the wind made it difficult.

  Instead, he studied Cassie. She wore a white, terry cover-up that didn’t hide much. Bright pink straps to her bikini peeked out over her bare shoulders. He handed her the sunscreen. She removed her garment, handed the tube back to him, and raised her eyebrows.

  As his gaze skimmed her figure, he felt a twitch between his legs. No, no, no. Not here.

  Her skin was pale. He slathered a thick coating of the cream on her shoulders and back. She arched slightly and held her long, dark hair up so he could get to her neck. He knew it could be a sensitive spot on a woman, so he applied the protection quickly.

  The yacht stopped and weighed anchor. The small crew fixed the couple up with poles and plenty of line.

  “Trolling for dolphin is best,” the captain said, eyeing Cassie’s thin arms.

  She made a face. “Dolphin? Those cute fish that save people who are drowning?”

  “Those are mammals. We’re talking about fish. Dolphin are good eating. You might know them as mahi-mahi.”