* * * *
Samantha sat on the beige suede sofa and crossed her legs. Bull had taken the pictures down. Did that mean he didn’t care anymore or didn’t want her asking questions? The big man had been growing on Sam. She had developed feelings for him. He seemed to be the sweetest man, totally attentive without pushing her toward the bedroom. Yet, Devon called him a womanizer, a player. She shook her head. The conflict made her head pound.
When he returned, she stood up. “I’ve got a headache. I think I’m gonna go home.”
He put his hand on her arm. “Please don’t go. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have gotten rid of those before you got here.”
“Hiding her from me?” Anger flared in her chest.
“Of course not. I’ve been meaning to do it for a long time. Just lazy.”
“Or you just like looking at her?”
He gazed at the floor. “You don’t know what it feels like.”
“I certainly do. You’re not the only one who’s suffered a broken heart, Sly.”
He took her into his embrace. “The guy must have been crazy. No man in his right mind would leave you.”
“That’s what you think,” she said, her voice muffled by his T-shirt.
“Come on, honey. Let me buy you breakfast,” he whispered, his breath warm on her ear.
Bull smelled good. His clean scent, subtle aftershave, and freshly laundered shirt kept her in his arms. She closed hers around him and rested her head on his chest. Something about the man appeared safe, contrary to her brother’s warnings. And being wanted never grew old. Just one more minute. Well, maybe five more minutes.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
Hungry for your love. “Not starving.” She shut her eyes.
Bull chuckled. “I get it.” He tightened his grip.
Sam melted into him a bit and sighed. It’s been so long. Tears stung until she blinked them back.
He bent his head to kiss her neck. The tickle of his lips shot through her, like a warning siren. “You smell good.”
“So do you.” She broke from him and stepped back.
“Ready?”
She nodded. Bull opened the front door and stood back for her to exit.
“Best breakfast in town is at the Dutton Hill Diner,” he said, putting his SUV in gear.
“Never been.”
“Good. Then I’m your first.”
“In many ways, Sly, in many ways.” She grinned.
“I hope you don’t mean. Uh. I mean. I hope not. Not in bed, right?” Sweat broke out on his forehead.
She burst out laughing. “Oh, God, no!”
He let out a breath. “Good. Wow, you scared me there for a minute.”
“Don’t like virgins?” She cocked an eyebrow and threw him a sideways glance.
“Not that I don’t like ’em. I prefer my women experienced.”
“Your women? I thought you weren’t a player?”
“I’m not. I don’t mess with virgins. Too many regrets. Too many girls thinking it means a marriage proposal. Too complicated.” He shook his head slowly as he turned onto Pine Road.
“I’m glad we got that out of the way.”
“So am I.” He chuckled, shooting her a sexy look.
“I’m being sarcastic, Sly. How many things do you have like that?”
“Like what?”
“Things that disqualify a woman from dating you.”
“None. I don’t have any.”
“Not true! You just said virgins are out. How about, um, let’s say brunettes? I mean, since your fiancée was a blonde.”
Bull pulled the car over onto the shoulder. “What the hell’s going on, Sam? Are you jealous of Tiffany? She dumped me. It’s been over for ages. She’s with another guy.”
“It’s just what you said about virgins.”
“I said I’m choosy. I don’t go with just any girl. I’m picky. I don’t want to spend my free time with a girl just for sex. She’s got to be someone I want to talk to, go places with, bring to games. You’re right. I do have a list. Here it is. No virgins, no dumb chicks, no alcoholics, no druggies, no smokers, no animal haters, no kid haters, no prissy girls fooling with their makeup all the time, no girls who spend their days shopping, no mean girls, no gabby girls, no girls who hate football. There. That’s the list. Satisfied?”
His eyes glazed over, and his lips compressed into a tight frown. He knit his eyebrows. Samantha held her breath for a moment. She tried to make eye contact, but he appeared a million miles away. Sam picked at a nail. Her mouth got dry, and her eyes watered.
“We don’t have to do this. I can take you home if you don’t want to be with me. I understand. Devon’s done a number on me with you. I get it. No hard feelings.”
He put on his turn signal and backed up, getting ready to make a U-turn when she put her hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Do you want to be with me or not?” His eyes were hard. “Because I’m done fooling around with this bullshit.”
“Do you want to be with me?” A deep breath didn’t keep her voice from shaking.
“Of course. I thought I made that damn clear. How many different ways do I have to say it, show it?” He put the car in park.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, Sly. I never meant to. I mean, I don’t want you to think.” Words failed her. She leaned over, placed her hand behind his head, and guided his mouth to hers. Bull leaned in. She pressed her lips to his, holding him to her. She slipped her tongue in. As soon as they touched, he jumped to life, pulling her closer. He took over, hugging her chest to his.
Desire flew through her veins. Her body heated as his fingers combed through her hair. She wound her arms around his neck as best she could with the gearshift in the way. His palm slid up her ribcage to cover her breast. Samantha’s breathing increased, and she tightened her grip. Need rose in her, erasing all thought, leaving only the feel, taste, and scent of Sly Brodsky. He pulled back and dropped his hand.
“I guess you do,” he croaked out, his voice dry, his gaze warm.
Color seeped into her cheeks. Losing control with a man in the front seat of a car wasn’t her style.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take advantage, but I needed to know,” he said.
“Know?”
“How much you want to be with me, or if it was just lip service.”
“And now you know, what, exactly?”
“Our physical connection is mutual.”
Her cheeks pinked. After trying hard to hide her feelings, to stay safe, afraid she’d get hurt, her body had betrayed her. The hot expression in his eyes made her quiver inside. He squeezed her hand.
“I love a lusty woman,” he said, before turning off the blinker and putting the car in drive. “Breakfast?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He opened the door to the homey eatery with gold walls and paintings by a local artist. Holly, the waitress, greeted Bull then seated them at a quiet table in the corner by the window. He took Samantha’s fingers between his. He raised her palm to his lips, sending goose flesh down her arm. No sense denying to herself that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her body refused to lie, sending green lights to her brain every time he touched her.
“What’ll you have?” Holly asked, clicking the tip down on her pen.
They ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, juice, and coffee.
“Who do you play this week?” Sam asked, sipping the hot brew.
“Columbus Bobcats.”
“Are they tough?’
“Hell, yes. They’ve got Horse Jackson. The son-of-a-bitch always tries to fuck up our quarterback. Oops. Sorry.”
“Devon talks like that all the time. Sometimes I find myself doing it too.”
“You curse?”
“Damn right, I do. Sometimes.” She chuckled.
They chatted as they ate. Samantha trotted out her knowledge of the game. But she knew it mostly from the defense,
because her brother was the starting cornerback, part of the defensive team, and the fastest player.
“You know a lot for a girl.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘for a girl’?”
His face reddened. “Nothing, nothing, Sam. Just that most girls I’ve dated don’t know a heckuva lot about football. But you do.”
“Devon’s my brother. I’m not exactly going to ignore the game. That’s a pretty sexist thing to say.”
“Just my experience. I don’t mean any offense. I’m impressed.”
She returned to eating her food. The conversation died. Is our chemistry only physical? When they finished their meal, Samantha made an excuse to return home. While Sly was apologetic once more, he didn’t argue about dropping her at her car, which was parked at his place. They said an awkward farewell, and he kissed her quickly.
Once inside, she burst into tears. What had happened to her dream? Sly Brodsky had appeared to be everything she wanted. Even with Devon berating him, she hadn’t lost interest. But today, their budding relationship had seemed to disintegrate. I hope you’re happy, Devon. Bull’s defensive tirade, then her defensive retort to his comment about women and football, had soured the atmosphere, like a bad smell from a chemistry experiment.
Samantha turned off her phone, put While You Were Sleeping in her DVD player, and grabbed a pint of caramel ice cream and a spoon. She curled up on her new sofa and cried as she watched the movie. Were the tears she shed for the sad parts of the film or for her own life? Sam had no idea, and she didn’t care. She had been falling in love, only to see her dreams for a future with this wonderful man shatter because of a few badly chosen words. No fiction could be sadder.
At midnight, she turned off the television, stripped off her clothes, and slid into bed. Sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned, opened the window, closed it again, and finally grabbed her robe and headed to the kitchen for a cup of tea.
At two o’clock, there was a banging on the door. Startled at first, her inclination was to remain quiet, hoping the intruder would leave. But a familiar voice called her name. She peeked through the peephole to find Sly Brodsky on the other side.
“Open up, Sam. Open up.”
She slipped the deadbolt to one side and cracked the door.
“Thank God you’re okay.”
“What?”
“Can I come in?”
She opened it all the way. He pulled her into an embrace so strong it cut off her breathing.
“I was so worried. I called you twenty times to apologize. Straight to voicemail. You never called back. I figured no matter how mad you were, you’d at least call back to tell me you’re okay. Here you are, in your new place, living alone. I thought maybe you slipped in the tub or something.”
“You were worried?”
“Worried? No. Frantic! I don’t know what happened between us. When I got home, all I could think about was the stupid stuff I said to you.”
“Me, too. Not your stupid stuff, mine.”
He eased his grip long enough to kiss her. “Then, when I couldn’t reach you, I got scared.”
Her eyes watered. “I was upset. I turned off my phone and watched a movie.”
“And cried,” he said, tracing tear tracks with his thumb. “I thought you’d had an accident. Please, don’t ever do that again.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Relieved you’re okay. Please, can we go back to yesterday?”
“Instant rewind?” She smiled. “Great idea!”
“I’m crazy about you. You’re the smartest, most amazing, most beautiful woman ever.”
“And you’re the kindest, sweetest man.”
He kissed her then angled his head to deepen the kiss. She melted in his arms. Her heart thumped wildly. It’s not over. Relief flooded her veins.
They kissed again. Then, he checked his watch. “Crap. Gotta go. Can I see you when I get back?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, baby. You make me a very happy man.”
With his final words, he closed her front door. She double locked it and went back to bed. The minute she laid down, she was asleep.
Chapter Three
Sly settled into his seat on the private jet chartered by Lyle Barker, the team owner. Trunk Mahoney, his best friend, sat next to him. The season had started off strong. The Kings had defeated the St. Louis Sidewinders, the team they had lost the Super Bowl to in February. Soon they’d be facing off with their old nemesis, the Columbus Bobcats. Both Bull and Trunk were looking forward to a little payback time for injuries inflicted by Horse Jackson, the Bobcats’ notorious defensive lineman.
Jackson was a monster. Huge and mean, he intentionally hurt any player who got in his way, but his favorite were quarterbacks—at least that’s the way it looked to The Kings. Knocking a QB out of the game was his signature move. He didn’t succeed often, but when he did, he’d rub it in to the other players. The entire Kings team hated him.
Bullhorn had been trying to find a way to pay the Bobcat menace back, without success.
“Forget it, Bull. Just stay out of his way. And keep The Kid away from him too.”
“Breaker? I doubt the coach will put him in. It would be suicide.”
“He’s been working out. Practicing. He’s looking better,” Trunk said, signaling for a flight attendant.
“He’s a fuckin’ baby. Horse will eat him for breakfast.”
“Kid’s gotta face him eventually. Give you a break.”
“I can handle him.” Bull made a fist and shoved it into his open palm.
“But if he takes you out, it’ll affect the whole season.”
Bull grinned.
The perky, redheaded stewardess stopped by and shot the men a smile. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Trunk snickered behind his hand, but Bull didn’t pay any attention.
“What kind of juice do you have?” Brodsky asked.
The two linemen ordered burgers, juice, and fruit salad. Trunk stared at the woman’s rear as she walked away.
“Gotta watch that, Trunk. You’ll embarrass her. Besides, you’re married.”
“Tell my wife that.”
“Tell her yourself. I hope you’re gonna stay in tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah. Mary said she’d call. I’ll be there.”
“Do I have to check up on you?”
“Nah. I’m good. What about you? Hell, you’re single. There’s a great strip club in Columbus.”
“Not for me. I’ve got what I want.”
“Banging Devon’s sister? Not bad.”
“Don’t talk like that. It’s disrespectful. Not banging her at all.”
“Touchy, aren’t you?”
“About her, yeah. She’s different. Besides, we’re not sleeping together.” Yet.
“That’s new. Except for Tiffany, I thought pussy was just pussy to you. Weren’t you the one who said to me, ‘once the lights are out, who cares what she looks like or who she is’?”
Bull sensed the color rise to his face. That’s exactly what he’d said to Trunk when they’d prowl the strip clubs together on the road, before Tiffany came into his life. After she’d broken his heart, he didn’t have it in him to go back to his tomcatting ways. He’d known love and nothing less was acceptable anymore. How could he make Trunk understand? “That was then, and this is now.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Trunk put his tray table down as the flight attendant approached.
“I’m not into that stuff anymore. It gets old.”
“I know what you mean.”
“You slowing down?” Bull raised his eyebrows as he looked at his friend.
They stopped talking while the woman put trays filled with food in front of them. Bull picked up his burger.
“It’s wrecked things with Mary. I gotta stop. Besides, it doesn’t do much for me anymore.”
“I know what you mean. Now, when I look at the girls, I feel sorry for them,” B
ull said.
“Yeah. Some of them have kids. They’re supporting families. It’s…it’s grubby. I end up giving them a hundred for nothing and leaving.” Trunk took a bite.
The guys boarded the bus at the airport and then checked into the best hotel in Columbus. Bull looked out his window. The sky was brilliant blue, like a flawless gem, and the room was large and comfortable. Everything was perfect, except that Samantha wasn’t there. He flopped down on the bed and picked up his phone.
“Hi, Sam.”
“Guess you arrived okay.”
“Yeah. Miss you. This hotel room is great, except for one thing. You’re not in it.”
“You’re sweet.” She chuckled.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. “Practice, dickhead,” came through it.
Bull recognized Trunk’s voice and ended his conversation. “Coming, asshole.”
The men warmed up on the field and ran a few plays. Bull had been avoiding Devon Drake until he sorted out his feelings about Samantha. That wouldn’t do anymore. Sam was in his blood, and Devon had better get used to it.
“Hey, Drake. I hear they’ve got a new wide receiver this year.”
“Yeah, Tom Gallagher.”
“You’ll shut him down.”
“Sean Murphy was Gallagher’s quarterback in college.”
“Teaming up again? You’ve got this.”
“Watch out for Horse. That dickwad has it in for you.”
“I can handle him.”
“I hope so. We need you.”
Bull smiled. Devon gave him a pat on the back. They went into the locker room. Lawson “The Kid” Breaker followed.
Trunk eyed him as he undressed. “Look at The Kid. He’s been pumping. Getting buff for some pussy?”
The Kid’s face turned red. “For the team.”
“Trying to impress us? We don’t go that way, Kid.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant… I mean, you’re all so…you work out all the time, and I’m kind of, well, fat and,” he stammered.
Sly Bullhorn Brodsky Page 3
