Sly Bullhorn Brodsky

by Jean C. Joachim

* * * *

  On Sundays, the director of the shelter worked in the afternoon, and Sam picked up the job from four to eight. They closed the place early those days, and you needed a key to get in. During the week, she was there from five-thirty until ten P.M. She had to leave her job at the Kings early to arrive on time.

  To make up the hours, she started at the Kings at eight in the morning. Jo had remarked that she liked having Sam there an hour earlier to set up the schedule and have things ready to go by the time she arrived.

  By eight thirty on Sunday night, Samantha was tired. She was reluctant to tell Bull about her new schedule, sure he’d be mad she wouldn’t be available to him every evening. But he had surprised her with a positive attitude. When she had it all worked out, she called him.

  “You’re doing something important. We can work around that.”

  “You surprise me.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re not as selfish as most guys.”

  “Is that a compliment or an insult?” he asked.

  She laughed. “A compliment, silly.”

  “Good. I respect what you do, Sam. I hope you know that. Want to grab a burger Sunday, after the game?”

  “What time do you play?”

  “Four. We probably wouldn’t eat until maybe nine or a little later. That okay?”

  “Fine. With the new job, I’m getting used to eating later.”

  “I want to tell you what’s going on with Tiffany.”

  Sam made a face into the phone. “If we have to.”

  “I’d rather be up front with you. It’s nothing bad. Not for me anyway.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll go to the Beast. If we win, the guys like to hang there for a beer to celebrate. Are you coming to the game?”

  “I can’t. But I’ll be watching on TV. The Beast?”

  “The Savage Beast. You’ve been there, right?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “Are you working Saturday?”

  “All day at the shelter. I’m sorry.”

  “Too tired for much after, right?”

  Memories of her lustful adventure with Sly returned. “Maybe not.” She smiled at his chuckle.

  “Good. Can I take you out to dinner?”

  “Great. I’d love that. ”

  “Let’s go to The Sweet Magnolia.”

  “I’ve never been. It’s pretty expensive, isn’t it?”

  “Not for me. It’s Saturday night. Let’s go out nice.”

  “We can come back here for dessert.”

  He laughed. “I had some other ideas about dessert, not involving food.”

  “Perfect. You read my mind.”

  She ended the conversation. Humming to herself, she gathered the sheets from the bed and headed down to the basement to do the laundry. As she put away her linens and clothes, she checked out her closet. This is pitiful. I have nothing decent. No nice dresses. I’m dating one of the top offensive linemen in the NFL, and I’m dressing in rags. Can’t go to a fancy place in these.

  After checking her bank balance, she realized that a buying spree was beyond her means. Depressed, she sank down on the sofa and reworked her budget to free up a hundred dollars.

  While she was doing the math, her phone rang. Devon.

  “Hi. Whatcha doing?” he asked.

  “Laundry. Then shopping. I need some new clothes. Even with my paying work at the shelter, I don’t have enough for more than one, measly outfit.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I don’t mean to be whining to you about money. What’s up?”

  “Where were you going to go?”

  “The Cottage. But they’re expensive. I’ll have to find someplace else.”

  “You going out with Bull?”

  “Saturday night and after the game on Sunday.” She held her breath, waiting for him to go ballistic.

  “Can’t have my sister in rags and dating a member of the team. Tell them to call me. I’ll give them my credit card number. Charge up to fifteen hundred bucks, Sam.”

  “What? You don’t hate Bull anymore?”

  “Nothing I can do about it, is there?”

  “Got that right.”

  “I don’t want to lose you. Go ahead. Buy some stuff. You coming to The Beast after?”

  “I am. I mean, we are. Devon, you’re the best!”

  “You weren’t saying that a month ago.”

  “I know. You were a pain a month ago. But now… Thank you so much. You’re the best brother in the world.”

  “Love you, Sam. I want you to be happy. Stormy and I’ll be there Sunday too. Gotta go.”

  Samantha clapped her hands together. New clothes had been put on hold indefinitely before she’d gotten serious about Sly Brodsky. Was she serious? She pondered the idea all the way to The Cottage. Sly wasn’t like any other man she had dated. He was attentive, polite, and sweet.

  A bell tinkled as she pushed open the door of the tony clothing store.

  A woman greeted her. “What can I do for you today, my dear?” She clasped her hands together in front of her ample bosom.

  “I’m dating this special guy, and my wardrobe…well, it’s pretty bad.”

  “Special?”

  “You might have heard of him? Sylvester Brodsky, offensive lineman for the Kings?”

  The woman’s eyes lit up. “I see. Dating a King? Well then, you must dress like a queen. He is a rich man, no? Used to only the best?”

  “I believe he is.”

  “My darling. You are a beautiful girl. It will be so easy to outfit you like royalty. Over here. We have some brand new designer dresses, and I have just the color for you.”

  * * * *

  Sly put his car in gear and drove to the lawyer’s office. His conference with Tiffany and her lawyer was set for ten. He’d be right on time. His palms began to sweat at the thought of seeing her again. He pulled into the parking lot of an old Victorian house. The sign read Bishop & Bishop. He went in and stopped at the receptionist desk.

  “Are you Sylvester Brodsky?” the attractive redhead who sat at the front desk asked.

  “That’s me. I’m here to see Mr. Bishop.”

  “Junior or senior?”

  “I don’t know. Just a minute.” Sly pulled a paper out of his back pocket. “Lloyd.”

  “That’d be senior. Just a moment.”

  Within a minute or two, the young woman led him to a small conference room. Lloyd Bishop, a trim man in his mid-fifties, entered, with Tiffany following. They sat down. The older man introduced himself.

  “Please, have a seat. This shouldn’t take too long.”

  “You look good, Bull,” Tiffany blurted out.

  He wanted to say the same, but it would have been an outright lie. His beautiful girlfriend had put on fifteen pounds since she’d run off. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her face was a pasty white. Her blond hair, colored too brassy for his taste, hung limp. Obviously, life had not been good to her. He wanted to feel triumphant, but only felt pity. I dodged a bullet. Maybe she did me a favor.

  Mentally comparing Tiffany to Samantha, he let out a breath of relief that Sam was his girl. He simply nodded in response to Tiffany’s compliment. “What’s this about? I have practice in an hour.”

  “We won’t take up much of your time. Mrs. Belden is being held on an assault charge. She and Mr. Belden got into an argument. She felt threatened, and so she stabbed him with a kitchen knife.”

  Bull’s eyebrows shot up. “Stabbed him? Like in dead?”

  “Oh, no, no,” Mr. Bishop went on. “He’s very much alive. But he was rather seriously injured.”

  “He went to the hospital,” Tiffany put in.

  Bull whistled low. “Must have been a big knife.”

  “A carving knife. The cleaver was in the dishwasher.”

  Bull bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

  “The problem is that Mrs. Belden is being held on criminal charges.”

>   “How does this affect me?”

  “We want to call you as a character witness.”

  “Me? The woman ran out on me. Left me at the altar. And you want me to testify how great she is?”

  “I get that. But she wasn’t violent with you, was she?”

  “Not violent, no.”

  “We just want you to tell the truth.”

  “That she was never a violent woman and that the entire time we were engaged, she never assaulted me with a weapon or hit me or anything? What woman’s going to try to carve me up? Look at me. Six three, two fifty—solid muscle. She’d have to be nuts to take a knife or even a gun to me.”

  “That’s not the response I was looking for.”

  “Okay, okay. No. She never assaulted me with a weapon, a fist, or anything.”

  “Thanks, Bull,” she beamed at him. “You still single?”

  “Not for much longer, God willing.”

  She made an ugly face. “Banging someone?”

  “I wouldn’t put it exactly like that.”

  “Oh? How would you put it?” She tilted her chin up.

  “I’m dating someone. But that’s not part of this. What do you want from me?”

  “Can I ask you some questions, questions you might be asked on the stand?”

  “Isn’t that coaching the witness?”

  “We like to call it prepping.”

  “Look, Mr. Bishop, I’ve got nothing to hide. During our year together, we fought some, but never physically. Ask me anything.”

  “Good. Your testimony might go a long way toward leniency from the judge.”

  “Could she get jail time for this?”

  “Absolutely. That’s why we’re calling on you. Our aim is to keep her out of jail.”

  Bull’s heart melted. Although he had grown indifferent to Tiffany, he didn’t hate her. The idea of her rotting in a cell bothered him. That asshole Belden probably deserved what he got. “Okay. Just tell me what to do.”

  Lloyd Bishop pulled a folder out of his briefcase and plucked a sheaf of papers from it. He perused them then began to read. Bull answered the questions truthfully. When the session was over, the lawyer covered some details, like the importance of Bull wearing a suit to court. The lineman agreed then got in his car and headed for the stadium.

  While he drove, he thought again that the bum who had married Tiffany had probably deserved to be stabbed. But any way he looked at it, he was relieved not to be involved with her anymore. Just this one last thing. He hoped and prayed Samantha would understand he had to do this. One last thing. Then, Tiffany would simply be an embarrassment from the past worth forgetting.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday night, following in the footsteps of the Kings’ quarterback, Griff Montgomery, Bull escorted Samantha to The Sweet Magnolia, Griff’s favorite restaurant. He knew it was pricey, but he didn’t care. Samantha deserved the best. Her devotion to her brother and the abused women and kids at the New Life Shelter set her apart. The fact that she was gorgeous and let him into her bed had influenced him too, but he wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

  He knew her budget was stretched thin. She’d never be able to afford a fancy place like The Magnolia. It gave him pleasure to take her. Other women had expected Bull to take them to expensive places and lavish costly jewelry and designer clothes on them. Not Sam. She was frugal, always opting for less expensive pastimes, like bowling over front row seats at a popular concert. And she never asked him for a thing.

  Bull had grown up poor. Well, maybe lower middle class. His family was big—a buck had to stretch to cover a buck-fifty. He hadn’t minded much because his parents had always put their children first. His mother had bought a new dress every five years. He knew, first hand, about pinching pennies.

  When he’d gotten his first NFL contract, he’d sent his parents on a cruise and bought five new dresses for his mom. Now that they were older and living in a retirement home, he made sure they had enough money to be comfortable. After all those years of doing without, their needs were small, and they were grateful for his help.

  He’d guess Devon and Samantha came from the same kind of background. She knew how to make money last. He’d watched the way she spent hers and noticed she never asked him to chip in. Even when she’d been furnishing her place, she hadn’t let him kick in a couple hundred bucks. Being one of the highest paid linemen in the NFL, making over ten million dollars, five hundred was chump change. Still, he admired her independence, as long as she wasn’t too self-sufficient and didn’t need him in her life.

  Samantha Drake was one in a million, and Bullhorn Brodsky was going to be the one who won her heart. Or he’d die trying.

  “This is a very expensive place, Sly,” she said, cocking an eyebrow as she perused the menu.

  “Stop looking at the prices.”

  “I’ll just have a salad.”

  Bull touched her arm. “Don’t do that. I can afford anything on this menu, with ease. Have what you want. Have something you’d never order if you were paying. Order the top steak, the filet. Go on. Live, Sam.”

  Her smile lit up their cozy corner of the room. “If you say so.”

  “It’s what I’m having.”

  They ordered two filets, a bottle of red wine, and the hearts of palm appetizer. She wore a dark pink dress that hugged her curves. Sly couldn’t stop checking her out, though he didn’t try very hard.

  “You look amazing tonight.”

  “Like this dress?”

  He nodded. The waiter arrived with their appetizers, opened the wine, and poured. Bull raised his glass.

  “To the most beautiful woman here.”

  A blush graced her cheeks, making her even prettier. Then, she proposed another toast. “To the best offensive lineman in the NFL, Sly Brodsky. The Kings rule!”

  He laughed as he clinked his glass with hers. When he picked up his fork, his cell rang. It was Tiffany.

  “One minute, Sam. Gotta take this.”

  She nodded.

  “What’s up?” he asked into the phone.

  “Bull, Clyde’s gonna sue me for damages in civil court. He says he’s gonna divorce me and take all my money.”

  “Look, I can’t help you. That’s what you’ve got a lawyer for.”

  “I’m afraid. I think he’s gonna come over here. Beat me up. Can you come over?”

  “Hire a bodyguard. You can’t be calling me.”

  “Why not? You loved me once. We were good together. Maybe you can again.”

  “Look, Tiffany, I’m not interested. I have a girlfriend.”

  “She new?”

  “I’m not going to talk about her. Seems to me you’re perfectly able to take care of yourself. It’s you who stabbed him, not the other way around.”

  “Don’t be mean, Bull.”

  “I don’t mean to be, but I’ve got a life. You left me a long time ago. It’s been over for ages. Please leave me alone.”

  “You’re gonna testify, aren’t you?” He heard the fear in her voice.

  “I said I was, and I am. Now, go fix your own life. Make it up with Herb or whatever the hell his name is.”

  “You want to know the real reason I stabbed him?”

  “No, I don’t. I’m at a restaurant, having dinner. I’m hanging up now. Don’t call me again. I’ll see you at the trial.”

  “But Bull—”

  He didn’t hear the rest because he ended the call.

  Sam’s expression clouded as she finished the last of her first course. “What did she want?”

  “Some bullshit about needing protection. She lies. I don’t believe her. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get involved.”

  “Seems to me you already are.”

  He shook his head. “All I’m doing is testifying that she wasn’t violent when we were engaged. That’s all.”

  “I hope she understands that.”

  “I hope so too. I’m sorry she interrupted our meal.” He reached over and took Sam’s h
and in his. “Tonight’s our night.”

  “Damn right. And don’t you forget it, Brodsky.” She pointed a finger at him then broke into a grin.

  They decided to forego dessert. Bull paid the bill, and they went back to Samantha’s place.

  “Coffee?” she asked, filling the pot with water.

  Bull sat at the kitchen table. After she turned the machine on, she headed for a seat next to him. He stopped her and eased her down on his lap. She steadied herself, gripping his shoulders, as she lowered her mouth to his.

  A passionate kiss raised his temperature. He pulled back and moved his lips to her neck. A sudden shiver jumped from her body to his hands, pressing her back.

  He whispered against her ear, “You’re what I want for dessert.” His hand found her breast, squeezing the soft flesh. A small moan escaped her mouth. That’s all he needed to hear. He eased her back.

  “I want you, honey,” he said, his gaze seeking hers.

  Her eyes, darkened with passion, met his. She pushed off from his chest to her feet. “Come on,” Samantha said, offering her hand. She led him to the bedroom.

  Bull kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and shut the door.

  * * * *

  After they made love, Samantha convinced him to stay the night. It hadn’t been hard. She chuckled to herself at the quickness of his response. Naked, she lay in his arms, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

  Even breathing indicated he was asleep. Her smile refused to leave. She stroked his chest, running her fingers through the soft hair there. She loved his body, strong, trimmed down by careful eating and exercise. He tightened his grip around her and shifted.

  His lips found her hair, planting a kiss.

  “Thought you were asleep.”

  “Almost. Maybe. Heaven to wake up with you.”

  She snuggled into him. He caressed her. She rolled over so he could spoon her. He closed his fingers around her breast, his thumb stroking her skin, and sighed. He raised his knees behind hers, and she backed her rear into him.

  “Careful. Get too close and you’ll start something.”

  She giggled. Bull pulled the covers up over them then kissed the back of her neck. She felt his even breathing against her. Sly was a veritable heat machine. A sense of safety washed over her. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Sleep claimed the lovers.