by Tricia Lynne
Was it? Or would we get it out of our system?
Hmm. Was I really entertaining this? Would she? If it was possible to get her out of my system, why did it rankle that she believed the hype? I understood what it looked like, but if she’d only try to see past it...
I watched Lily set Jet in front of a jump on one of the outer edges of the course.
“Jet, time to go to work.”
The Aussie’s entire demeanor changed. Her body was stiff, coiled, her eyes laser-focused on her human. Putting the dog in a sit, Lily walked twenty yards ahead. Jet’s front legs literally shook, vibrating with energy waiting to be released.
Finally, Lily yelled, “Jet, break.”
The dog took off in a streak of red and white fur, taking two jumps on her own before catching up with her handler, who was also off and running.
Lily’s instructions came swift and clear as she pointed where she wanted Jet to go while yelling out instructions. “Tunnel!” Jet hit a curved tunnel under the dog walk at breakneck speed. The thing rattled like tectonic plates had shifted underneath it. When the streak that was Jet reemerged, her coach had moved on.
“Back!” She made a pushing motion with her hand, and Jet crossed behind the jump and took it from the backside, jumping toward Lily. Before the Aussie’s feet hit the floor, her handler was yelling the next direction.
“Walk it!” Jet flew up one end of a long narrow bridge and galloped along the plank. “Hit, Jet, hit!” Jet’s paws slapped the yellow-painted end of the bridge before she launched off.
It was poetic, the way they worked together. Lily had to mind where she was in relation to the dog to make difficult turns, avoid running over her dog, take each obstacle in the correct order—at the correct angle—and as quickly as possible without going off course.
It was a ballet of plays called and audibles made. Even Lily’s body language communicated with the dog like a receiver’s did with me before he made a grab at the ball.
“Frame!” she yelled, and Jet scampered up a large A-frame, flying over the top without her feet touching down. Lily’s directions never stopped. “Jump! Right! Jump! Tunnel! Go bang!” The dog scampered over a teeter-totter that fell to the ground as Jet moved over it.
How in the hell did you even teach a dog to do that? To ride the movement all the way to the ground. Jet didn’t budge until the end she stood on hit the floor with a bang. Next, she snaked through a difficult set of jumps that required Lily use quick hand signals Jet interpreted with ease.
“Weave!” This was the most spectacular thing to watch. Entering on her left shoulder, Jet weaved in and out at light speed, snaking her lithe body through a long, straight line of flexible poles. It reminded me of an old-school tire drill. Jet didn’t miss a single one; she managed to appear as if she were dancing instead of weaving between poles.
After the poles, the Aussie took one more jump and her trainer threw her hands in the air. “Yes, girl. Yesss!” The dog jumped into Lily’s arms, tongue lolling wildly as both dog and trainer pushed out hard breaths.
I whistled and applauded. I’d never seen Jet look more doglike. She always had a feline quality about her, but right then—in Lily’s arms—she was all happy, goofy puppy and they were a kick-ass team.
And Lily... I was in awe. All those curves and strength. Legs churning, arms pumping. My thirst was real. I was damn impressed with Lil’s own agility, speed, and ability to think as she moved.
Remind you of someone?
Sideways. I was fucked sideways. Because I would have given up my MVP trophies, pro-bowl selections, my left nut, and my job to be with her at that moment.
Setting Jet on the floor, she walked toward me with an exaggerated sway of her hips, the upturned lips. The flint in her violet eyes as she made her way to me.
Damn, I wanted her. All of her. The confident trainer. The sexy siren. The smart and brave crusader.
You stupid asshole.
Yep. That about summed it up.
Chapter Ten
“Eh, screw it.” —Lily Costello
Lily
I watched the slow slide of Brody’s Adam’s apple and an exhale escaped my chest. I knew what I must have looked like. Hair wild, sweat on my face, and for real swagger in my walk.
I loved running my girl. The team she and I made. All the hard work we’d put in to get to where we were. Jet was a beast on an agility course, and it was my job to set her up to succeed. We’d run that course flawlessly. And I’d found I didn’t mind showing off a little bit for Brody.
He was thirsting, too. His eyes, hooded and dark, carried over me like electrical current against my skin. “So. Whatdidyathink? Is Jet an athlete?”
“I think that was damn impressive, and yeah, you and Jet are both athletes. How long have you guys been training in agility?”
“Since Jet was old enough to safely take the jumps.”
“I could see your dad come out in you just now.”
“How do you mean?”
Brody’s grin was sinful as he put both palms on the half wall and leaned in. “Speed, strength. Precision and determination. The way you think on your feet and adjust to your teammate. Hell, even your footwork. I would wager if your dad could see you do that, he’d be damn proud.”
Grinning, I turned and started resetting bar heights for the following morning’s class, knowing he’d be checking out my butt as I bent over. Realistically, I knew Brody was a bad bet. Yet, I couldn’t control the way my body reacted when he was around. I liked him watching me. I wanted his hands everywhere his gaze touched.
Chemistry was a bitch, and this little interaction was turning into an eighth-grade science experiment with Brody as my lab partner. Two milliliters of perspiration. A couple of ounces of dog hair, and a beaker full of easy banter. A healthy dose of mutual respect and understanding. Then, the teacher turns her back and you both know you really, really shouldn’t, but you pick up the vial labeled connection, and he picks up the other labeled attraction, and you pour them both into the mix at the same time.
Suddenly the smoke alarms are going off and you have no way to stop the impending explosion that will ensure your mutual destruction.
When I turned back to face the half wall, Brody was leaned over at the waist, forearms rested against the edge, head hanging forward as he mumbled under his breath. The only words I could make out were Jesus Christ and sonofabitch.
I crossed my arms under my chest and watched him have whatever argument he was having with himself as he cussed a blue streak.
He lifted his head and saw me watching him. The expression on his face was somewhere between barely banked heat and amused resignation. Why was it I couldn’t have this man, again? Something about his job and my family and cheating men?
I’d be damned if I could remember, because all I could think about was the rise and fall of his shoulders, the pink of his upturned mouth, and mutually assured destruction.
Standing to his full height, Brody put both palms on the top of the half wall. In a swift move, he jumped while swinging his legs out to his left and sailed over with absolute grace.
I felt my mouth drop open and my cheeks pink. Mercy. Had anything in the history of sexy men ever been sexier than that little leap?
The answer was a resounding no.
“Lily.” Moving slowly, relaxed, he came toward me.
I let him get in my space. That particular distance where one magnet could feel the pull of the other. He smelled like cut grass and rain. Somewhere in my brain, a voice shouted at me not to do this, but I shut it down.
I was allowed my share of bad ideas in my lifetime.
Brody stood there, nostrils flared, shoulders rising and falling a little too rapidly. But he didn’t touch me. It reminded me of that scene in Hitch where Albert is supposed to go ninety percent and wait for the Will Smith version of Alleg
ra to come the other ten.
That.
And I was the “overeager sonofabitch.” On the tips of my toes, I steadied myself with a hand on his waist and stretched up to sip from his lips.
Those full, consuming lips that I’d thought of kissing so often. Wondered what they tasted like.
Mint.
How they felt.
Soft, warm, and damp.
His lower lip was bigger than the upper, the seam where they met the perfect space to cradle my own. The scar at the top of his cupid’s bow. I’d never noticed that before.
His name was a whisper as I pressed my soft body against his hard one. “Brody.”
His absurdly long lashes fluttered, his lips parted. “Huh.”
“Do you want to kiss me back?”
When his eyelids rolled open, the brown had turned so very dark. If I didn’t know better, I could’ve mistaken them for black. Calloused hands found my waist and I was in the air. He spun us both, taking a couple of steps. Then I was on my feet again, a full wall at my back and my front pressed into his.
“Hell yeah I do.” Brody’s voice was raw and so deep.
“Then you should go with that feeling.”
He skated his palms around to my nape. Strong fingers slid into my hair. Brody tilted my head where he wanted it, but his mouth didn’t meet mine right away. His breath fanned over my parted lips instead.
Heat and need pooled in my abdomen, air crackling around us. He held us there, suspended on that precipice as the tension built inside me and his bedroom eyes searched my face. A minute passed, or maybe it was an eternity, but when Brody brushed his mouth against mine, I couldn’t help the moan. He sank into me all warm and wet and perfect. Each glide of his tongue along mine, the way he pulled my lower lip in and nibbled. Brody’s kiss was a flawless dance of push and pull, give and take, chase and retreat.
I savored every velvet glide, every nip, every penetration, each brush, stroke, and caress.
I ached low in my belly, warmth flooding my body.
The tenderness of it all.
He wasn’t what I’d thought he would be at all. I’d figured kissing Brody would be demanding and controlling. Instead, it was come that last ten percent. Tell me you want me as badly as I want you. It pulled at me, pulled at my gut, and at something I’d long ago tucked away in my chest and believed would never again see the light of day.
“Jesus, Lil.” Voice little more than a breath, he slid his hands to my waist, and I arched against the hard line of him. Abs taut, he slid a palm between the small of my back and the wall, his thick arm a cushion against the painted concrete blocks. He tightened that arm and lifted me a couple of inches off the floor.
“Look at me, Liliana.”
My eyelids were heavy, hard to raise. I was lost in sensations. The cool wall against my butt, the warm heavy length of him trapped between us, that rain-and-grass scent of his, the lingering feeling of his mouth on mine. Brody was consuming. Immense around me. I was not a tiny woman—short, yes, but not tiny. Yet, Brody’s size made me feel downright petite. Like I was swallowed up, cocooned inside his scent and body. Safely surrounded by all his strength and grace.
With effort, I focused on his unfathomable face, taking stock of all the little scars I hadn’t noticed before. His lip, chin, a cheekbone. Dark eyes full of a need that bordered on desperate. That’s when I heard the rusty groan of the latch on the metal chest where I kept my heart hidden away.
Brody made a slow roll of his hips against mine, and we swallowed each other’s gasps, disappeared into each other’s mouths. We forgot all the consequences as his hand fisted the fabric of my shirt, and my own found purchase on his shoulders, his biceps, the thick black hair at his nape.
“Mmm,” I moaned.
“Shit,” he whispered, breaking the kiss to press his head to mine.
That was the moment Jet chose to let loose a bark. Both of us startled. I could see the what the hell are we doing on his face as sure as I felt it galloping through my brain.
Slowly, he lowered me until I was on my feet and righted to his full height. We stood like that for a moment, both of us trying to decide if we should keep going or turn back.
In the end, he made the decision for us. Huffing out a heavy exhale, he placed a chaste kiss on my forehead before stepping back.
Okay then.
I tugged at the fabric of my shirt before smoothing my hair down. Brody ran a hand over his face, the other resting on his hip while he expelled a heavy breath. I knew this was the wise decision, but a part of me ached for what might have been.
If he didn’t play football and all that came with it. If we weren’t working together. If I didn’t come with so much baggage.
He said the rumors aren’t true.
“Look, Lily—” His voice was dark and raw.
I cleared my throat. “No, it’s fine. It’s your job on the line, and...” My feelings. “...the mill search, too.”
“Darlin’, if it weren’t for all this bullshit...”
I nodded. “This is the smart play.” I wished my body felt the same. “I’ve got the research in my backpack. You can let CC in to stay with Jet if you want.”
He whistled for CC and she jumped the wall with ease only to lie next to her bestie and go back to sleep. In the break room, I pulled the research, but I could feel him behind me. His presence was larger than life; Brody sucked all the oxygen out of the room.
Trying to steady my nerves, I cleared my throat. “Dividing up the listings made quick work of it. Having Carrie and Everett, Kate, and Melissa and you really helped, too.” I turned to him and wished I hadn’t. He obviously wasn’t dealing with this tension and heat between us any better than I was.
Popping open my laptop, I clicked on the map I made. “I think we should rent a place here. In one of the little towns. They’re in the right area code and within a few miles of the Bulldogs practice facility.
“It helps us that the dogs couldn’t have gotten too far from the mill. The red pins are where dogs have been found. The blue ones are where we located phone numbers we were able to trace back to that general vicinity.”
“Do I even wanna know how you got those?” He leaned over my shoulder and his scent tickled my nose.
“Let’s just say I know a guy.” Who I wasn’t ratting out. “But see how they’re grouped near these two towns?” I tapped the screen. “There’s a ton of unincorporated land there. Developments have sprouted up, so the towns have started to grow to cater to the team, but it’s spotty. My mom and Dick are even building here.” I pointed to a cluster of acreage.
“Backroads and cattle. Looks promising.” His voice made the skin on my shoulders prickle. “For an ad on Craigslist to work, we’ll need to rent a place in the area. Otherwise, it won’t be believable.”
“That was my thought, too. We need to get a look at, and be able to follow, these people. That area is expensive, though. I can talk to my crew to see if they can help field calls and be there when someone is coming to see a dog, but I can’t afford—”
He shook me off. “I’ll take care of the rental. Make it seem legit and handle the expenses. I’ll call my realtor tomorrow. Will we need a dog?”
“I’ll handle that part.” I met his gaze over my shoulder, and it hit me in the gut. “Are you sure about this?”
Thankfully, he took a half step back. “Yep. I take care of my money. There was never a better reason to spend it than this... Anything for the dogs, darlin’. Anything you need.”
What I needed was a stiff margarita.
Because with Brody throwing statements like that around, it would take a damn miracle for me not to get attached.
Chapter Eleven
The douchiest douche bag to ever douche.
Brody
I hit the gym early to blow off some steam before I had
to see the team doctor.
Damn. That woman. The way she tasted, the way our tongues tangled in that un-fucking-believable rhythm. I couldn’t get Lily out of my head. And the more I tried, the harder it was.
So, the gym. Because my dick was starting to chafe.
Adjusting my earbuds, I sat, tightened the wraps on my wrists, and settled my hands on the bar, hoisting the weight over my head.
One. Two. Three...
I was a fairly easy-going guy off the field. I didn’t give a damn how the media painted me as long as it didn’t affect how I did my job or lived my life. Yeah, it was annoying, but relatively harmless speculation up until the fantasy suite scandal broke. Speculation I knew I’d rightfully earned at one point in my career. But Lily... I didn’t want her to see me like that now. Like I was the same guy as her dad because we played the same sport.
Everyone knew the stories about Billy Costello. Best lineman of his time back before concussion protocols and CTE even had a name or were synonymous with football. Players didn’t openly talk about symptoms. Frankly, if they had, they’d have been ridiculed. No, teams gave you pills and injections, and you kept your damn mouth shut. Billy was a notorious skirt chaser, he gambled his money away and got hooked on painkillers. Then, one night, he drove his car off a bridge. I understood Lily’s hesitance, but I wanted her to see past the bullshit to see the real me. That I was nothing like her father.
Because, dumbass that I was, I’d started to catch the feels for a woman I had no business being with. Not if I wanted to keep my damn job and retire with some semblance of my dignity left. Lily Costello was a fine line drawn in quicksand that I was dangling my toes over. I needed to be concentrating on holding on to my job, not holding on to her curves.
Racking the weight, I stood from the seated shoulder press and stripped off my sweatshirt. Balling it up, I used it to mop my face before I added another plate to each side of the bar. The weight room was fairly empty except for the die-hards and other guys rehabbing an injury.
