Protective Instinct

by Tricia Lynne

  After reseating, I lined up my little fingers again and heaved the weight over my head as Shinedown launched into “Devil” through my earbuds.

  One. Two. Three...

  Usually, lifting cleared my head. I sure as hell needed to do something to help me focus. The rookie linebacker from Florida was breathing down my neck. He’d taken full advantage of the crack in the door I’d left him last season when I’d gone out with a dislocated shoulder.

  And the kid could play.

  Yet, I’d be damned if I retired from the fucking bench.

  “How’s it doing today?” Devon—the team’s trainer I went to most often—stopped in front of my bench, took note of the angry red scars peeking out from under my cut-up T-shirt. “That’s more weight than you’re supposed to be doing, bro.”

  I nodded, guided the bar back to the rack, brought the bottom of my shirt up to wipe away the sweat. “I’m listening to my body. I stop when it tells me to stop.”

  Crossing his arms over a team polo, he gave a small nod. “Honestly, your recovery has been remarkable. I don’t want you to fuck it up is all. Keep those muscles strong and keep up the range of motion but take it easy. Go slow.”

  I nodded, swigged deeply from my water bottle.

  Devon rocked heel to toe. “I heard from Doc’s secretary. Jiménez rescheduled. Dr. Chase moved you up the list. Why don’t we get you stretched out and then you can see him?”

  Adam Chase III—our team’s head orthopedic surgeon—was a fuckstick. Fuck. Stick. He treated the Bulldogs players like cattle. Patch ’em up and get ’em to market.

  I knew at least two guys who shouldn’t have finished the season last year with the concussion protocols.

  But they did anyway because the team wasn’t deep in those positions.

  A short walk to the PT wing later, I hopped up on a table. Devon started to stretch me out. I was a big guy. It took a big guy to do the job. That’s why I usually saw Devon. He’d suffered a similar injury in college when he’d played ball. He knew firsthand what I was working with.

  Dev put my forearm on his shoulder and started rubbing me down. “How’s the dog training coming?”

  I harrumphed.

  “You okay, man?” Devon walked around the table behind me, stretching my pectoral while he massaged my deltoid. “You’re kinda quiet today.”

  “Yeah. Sorry, I’m...edgy.”

  He barked out a laugh. “You still laying off the women? Hell, I’m surprised. Nobody should be able to tell a man he can’t get his dick wet.”

  “Not women. Woman,” I grated.

  “Ohhhh.” A smile crawled across Devon’s mouth. “Well, c’mon, Karen. What’s the tea?”

  “My dog’s trainer.” Divulging wasn’t something I’d calculated. But Devon was a good dude. He’d keep it quiet.

  The door to the PT room swung open, and in walked Dr. Douche. “Mr. Shaw, let’s have a look, shall we?”

  Devon stepped away, washed his hands in the sink as the doctor started his exam. “Any discomfort? Grunt once for no, twice for yes.”

  I stared straight ahead, ignoring the dig. Devon shook his head as the doctor ran me through a range of motion tests.

  After hearing my jaw crack, I forced myself to relax.

  “Talkative as usual, I see. I hear you’ve hired a dog trainer. A dog bites a person, you put it down.”

  “Opinions are like assholes,” I barked, then hissed as he pushed my shoulder a little too far. On purpose. This prick...

  I could’ve dropped him with one punch, and it was no less than he deserved, but Dick had a hard-on for me for whatever reason. Lots of guys had complained about Dr. Douche to no avail.

  Devon must have read my thoughts because he rolled his eyes as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be you if that dog bites Lily Costello. Push against my hand.” He put his palm out, face down, and I raised my own to meet his and pushed with all my strength, knocking him off balance. Then I grinned at the sonofabitch.

  Chase righted himself. “Neanderthals. Continue with your current weight regimen. Devon, cut PT back to twice a week.” Cleaning his glasses on his custom button-down, the fucker finally found the guts to look me in the eye. “Reevaluate in two weeks.” With that, he left.

  The question was hanging on Devon’s gaping mouth. “Lily Costello is your dog trainer?”

  Yep. Lily Motherfucking Costello.

  Half an hour and a shower later, Devon roared by in his pickup truck, as I came out of the building headed for my own truck. That engine definitely didn’t sound like stock. Dude must have made decent money as an athletic trainer.

  My phone rang and I stopped to fish it out of my shorts. Hayes.

  “What’s up, man?”

  “Uh, hey. You here at the facility?” A dog barked and growled in the background.

  “Just leaving. What’s up?”

  “Umm, do you have Lily’s number handy? There’s a big-ass dog outside my truck right now that might be hurt. I think it’s a Boxer, but it won’t let me get out to check on it. I try to open the door and it goes nuts. It already attacked my bumper and front tire. I don’t want it to run off. It’s bleeding and I don’t know where from or how bad.”

  Shit. “Yeah, sit tight. I’ll call her. Where you parked?” I turned to hustle back in and drop my stuff.

  Twenty minutes later, I flagged down an SUV with Lily in the passenger seat. I jumped in the back seat, saying a quick hi to Carrie before I told her where to go. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if maybe I should call animal control or something.”

  “No!” Carrie glanced at me in her rearview. “Sorry, I mean, I’m glad you didn’t in this case. Chances are a dog like this would go straight to the shelter and have a high chance of being euthanized. Any other time, I would say that’s the thing to do, but with you knowing Lily, this was the better choice. This time.”

  An unsettling thought crossed my mind. These two tiny women were going to take on a rabid dog to save a hulking football player. I couldn’t help the chuckle. Sometimes it wasn’t the size of the dog in the fight and all that.

  Looking over her shoulder, Lily must have misread my amusement as concern. “Don’t worry, Shaw. We got this. Carrie is...well, you’ll see. She has a way with dogs who are fear aggressive.”

  Twenty-five minutes later I was helping Hayes load an airline-style kennel full of previously pissed-off Boxer into the back of Carrie’s SUV as she fed the dog french fries through the grating.

  “My hero. How can I ever repay you?” Hayes batted his lashes at Lily before letting a lascivious grin crawl across his face.

  She snorted. “All of you tough guys are the same. Needing rescue from some female you pissed off.”

  I grunted my dissent.

  Hayes scooped my girl up in a bear hug meant to get a reaction out of me. “Hayes, put me down, damnit. You always were a little handsy for my taste. Besides, you should be thanking Carrie. She’s the one who has the touch with Boxers.”

  He sat Lily on her feet, but not before giving me a shit-eating grin. “Thanks, Carrie.” He gently picked the older woman up in the same manner he had Lily.

  “Lord have mercy, put me down!” Hayes acquiesced, but after he let her go, she threw him a wink that he returned.

  “You have my phone number if you need anything at all,” Hayes said. “Don’t forget to send me the vet bills, and call me about dinner, Lily. I’m happy to visit pet shops with this one.” He tapped a fist to the top of my shoulder. “Maybe someone will get stars in their eyes.”

  I tipped my chin at him. “I’ll call you about dinner.”

  His laugh carried halfway across the parking lot.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nobody likes to get Dick-slapped.

  Lily

  Th
is was never an easy day for me or Mom. It was my dad’s birthday, though we didn’t talk about it. We’d have lunch where the little insults we flung at each other faded into the background in favor of talking about the good times with my dad. The times before he started to drown, when he was larger than life and our family was happy.

  But I already knew something was up. She chose Hattie’s of all places. I loved Hattie’s—she knew that—but it wasn’t known for being the healthiest place to eat. My mother counted calories like bankers count money. She also rode me about my own weight nonstop.

  We were from two different planets; the only thing we had in common was my dad. I’m sure she would have much rather had a daughter more like her, but I’d have much rather had a mother who wasn’t a flake. Such was the wheel of genetic roulette.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  She sat at a four-top, platinum blond hair perfectly coiffed in the vein of Texas beauty queens. When she stood to give me the briefest of hugs, her white pantsuit highlighted long legs that ended in five-inch Louboutins. Chanel bag placed on the corner of the table, she already had a glass of white in front of her. “Hello, darling.”

  I sat back, crossing my legs. “Hattie’s? Really? Isn’t it in your prenup that you have to maintain a certain weight?”

  Brow furrowed, she smoothed her napkin. Perhaps I shouldn’t have expected a war and fired the first shot.

  “Not everyone is like you, Liliana. We’re not all so self-assured, so confident in who we are like you are, and your father was. I’m glad you got that from him.”

  I took her hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  There was a hint of shine in her eyes. For all her beauty and grace, Audrey would always see herself as the trailer park girl with a higher kick than IQ who’d never quite fit with the old money Dallas elite. Something they would never let her forget.

  Dick would never let her forget it either.

  “Have you ordered already?”

  She nodded, giving me a small smile as she shook off the vapors. “I did. I got you the fried chicken. I know it’s your favorite. Of course, it’s not the best choice with your metabolism.” She considered me. “Although, have you lost weight, honey?”

  Ahh, there was my mother.

  She patted my hand. “It’s for the best. Didn’t Trey ask you to take some weight off at one time?”

  “Yes, he did, and no, I didn’t. I haven’t lost weight, Audrey, and like I’ve told you before, I have no plans to change my body to suit anybody. Ever.” Trey was from the kind of family where things like harassment got swept under the rug. Dick had practically drooled when I’d told him and my mother that Trey asked me to marry him. When I’d caught the douche banging a prospective bridesmaid and called it off, Dick—and subsequently, my mother—had tried his damnedest to get me to overlook it. When the stalking got to its peak, my stepfather told me I was being overly dramatic and that I’d broken the poor boy’s heart.

  Sigh.

  Her small frown revealed the beginnings of crow’s feet. No matter, as soon as she saw them in the mirror, she’d get a peel or something.

  “How are things at work?” she asked as our food arrived. Seriously, the plate of fried chicken the waiter sat in front of me was worth any amount of shit my mother threw my way. I inhaled deeply, my mouth watering before I noticed the waiter place a third plate on the table.

  Shit. “Dick is coming, isn’t he?” I started to stand but my chair hit something soft and wouldn’t scoot back.

  “Yes, Liliana. I asked your mother to invite you to lunch.” Dick’s grumbly bass gave me a case of the willies. I hadn’t smelled him this time. Usually, I could smell his nauseating combination of Drakkar Noir and unwashed taint long before I saw him.

  “Hmm, new cologne, Richard?”

  I shot my mother a glare, but deep down I was disappointed. I expected disappointment out of her regularly, but not today of all days. Today was supposed to be about my dad. I don’t know why I was surprised, really. Audrey had a long history of choosing Dick over me. God forbid she disappoint her cash cow. He might not pay for her Chanel habit.

  Ignoring my question, he rounded my chair to sit in his own. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you, darling. It’s come to my attention you’ve taken on a new training client.”

  Ugh. He was no more than a sleazy used car salesman in a four-thousand-dollar suit. Tall and slight, he wore his salt and pepper hair slicked straight back à la Gordon Gekko. Manicured eyebrows, and always the red power tie. Oh, and I couldn’t forget the stubble. It was comical. The ever-present beard scruff was not only a little too long to give him the appearance he was going for—you know, hip—it was scraggly and slid straight into what I thought of as the Midlife Crisis shave.

  I had no reason to hide my association with Brody Shaw. He was a client helping me locate a puppy mill. That was the reality. Even if my fantasy was a tad more risqué. “Yep. Helping him train his dog. What of it?” Nothing to see here, douche bag.

  His grin made me ill. My fried chicken no longer smelled like yummy goodness. For that, alone, I hated this asshole.

  “I’m sure you’re aware of the scandal surrounding Mr. Shaw and a few of his teammates. What you don’t know is that Mr. Barnett would like him gone. See, Brody slept with his twenty-one-year-old granddaughter not long before the fantasy suite came to light. It wasn’t made public for obvious reasons.”

  The news made something in my gut knot.

  I knew Brody got around, but really? The owner’s barely legal granddaughter? Geez. “What does that have to do with me training his dog, Dick?” I overpronounced the word and caught my mother squirming in my periphery.

  Dick leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table. “Ah, Liliana, I’ve always admired your spine. Which is more than I can say for your mother. If only you were a man, I might have made you general manager of the Bulldogs one day.” He leaned back. “Sadly, you literally weren’t born with the balls for this business. But there is something you can do for me that none of my male executives can.”

  “Kiss my ass, Dick.”

  “Such talk,” my mother hissed.

  Dick shook his head. Producing a piece of paper from his suit jacket, he placed it next to my hand and smiled. “This is my new will—there are two versions. I’ve come to an arrangement with Mr. Barnett. In three years’ time, I’ll own a majority share of the Dallas Bulldogs. Whether or not I file the version you’re included in depends on you.”

  Dick wasn’t buying me. Ever. More curious than anything, I wanted to see where he was going with this.

  “I’ve noticed Mr. Shaw gravitated to you at team events before you stopped attending. You two seem to have a rapport, and now you’re working with his dog. I’d like you to develop that friendship with him and inform me about any more possible missteps so the team can get in front of them.”

  Ahh, there it was. The hair on my neck prickled. He wasn’t telling me the whole truth. “I’m not a rat, Dick. And I’m not a babysitter.” I leaned forward, mirroring his pose. “I don’t care what you offer me.”

  He drew his fingers away from his chin. “What if I sweeten the deal? The Bulldogs are always looking for charitable causes to donate to. I know rescue dogs are close to your heart, Liliana. I’m sure there are any number of organizations the Bulldogs could partner with. Pick one.”

  Oh, this greasy bastard. On today of all days. I glanced at my mother, who was watching everyone and everything but me. At first, I thought what I felt was hate for her in that moment. It wasn’t hate. It was shame with a side of pity.

  “Of course, you’d have to come home to the Bulldogs. Use the degree that I paid for? The head trainer position would be all yours along with a handsome salary. After we’re done with Mr. Shaw, that is.”

  Why the hell did he want me to work for him so badly? In truth, the reason w
as irrelevant. Whatever it was, I could guarantee the arrangement wouldn’t be as simple as going to work for the team. I’d undoubtedly run into Trey a lot as well given he was the team’s head ortho guy and created most of the players’ treatment plans. That wouldn’t set off dude’s creeper penchant. At. All.

  That was assuming Dick even held up his end to support a rescue.

  So, Brody had nailed the owner’s granddaughter. It was no less than I expected from Brody, even if it hurt more than I cared to admit. It didn’t matter if he slept his way through a Hooters restaurant—no matter how much the idea made me cringe. The man’s dedication to his dog, to our cause, was reason enough not to give him up. He was a decent guy—manwhore, yes, but at this point, Brody was more than a client or a partner. He’d become my friend.

  I didn’t rat on my friends.

  I sat back in my seat. “Dick, that’s an interesting offer.”

  My mom perked up.

  I wished I hadn’t seen the small glimmer of hope on her face. “But it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me, I have something that isn’t for sale.”

  I fished a twenty out of my wallet and dropped it on the table.

  “Oh, really? What’s that?”

  “Integrity.” I grinned.

  My stepfather’s face scrunched up, making him appear his age. But, hell if I didn’t catch the slightest grin on my mom’s face before I turned to leave.

  Damn it. I’d been looking forward to Hattie’s fried chicken.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bromas and granny panties? The fuck has my life come to?

  Lily

  “He did what, now?” Olive’s voice curled up to a note that could have broken my wineglasses had we not been on the phone.

  Olive was Casshole’s mom, and a friend. We both preferred dogs to people—me because of my family, and her because of her job in public relations. Her indignation made me smile. I held the phone with one hand and combed through the fridge trying to find the block of parmesan cheese with the other. The rattle of bowls and jars on the refrigerator shelf reverberated through as I smacked my noggin. “Ouch. Shit.”