Risky Game (15 page)

Brody charged out of the chair toward the fireplace, resting his hands on the mantel. “Since when do you care who I date, Bridgett?”

“Since
you
started caring who you dated, Brody.”

He glanced sharply over his shoulder at his sister.
Damn her for being so intuitive.
Rationalizing that it was better not to give her any more ammunition in her quest, he kept his mouth shut, turning back to stare at the flames in the hearth.

Bridgett sighed. “You’ll eventually tell me.”

Brody scoffed.

“Because I’m your favorite sister.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, especially at her smug tone.

“Admit it. I am. I’m the only one in this family who doesn’t treat you like a prince and you like that.”

“Nope, I love being a prince.” Of course, his sister was right. Of all the women in his family, Bridgett was the one he gravitated to the most. Like him, she was driven, more goal oriented and independent than their other siblings. Growing up, Bridgett was the sister he ran to when he needed guidance or when he was in trouble. She was solid in a crisis and relentless as a bulldog when she wanted the truth. He needed to steer the conversation into more nebulous waters.

Resting his shoulder against the mantel, he studied his sister. She was beautiful, with the elegance of a 1950s movie star. And yet, at thirty-three she was sitting alone in a romantic inn with only her e-reader as a companion.

“Are you happy, Bridgett?”

His question seemed to catch his sister off guard. “Are
you
happy, Brody?”

“Damn it, stop being a litigator and answer the freakin’ question!”

Unease unfurled in his belly at the look of despondency that quickly passed over her face before she hid it behind her mask of elegance. Was his sister covering up some deep pain or trauma? Had she ever been reduced to cowering in the corner of a bathroom as a man stripped her of her dignity, her pride, her courage? What had it cost her to rise so quickly in her career? Suddenly, Brody felt like a dick for asking the question at all. Apparently, his insensitivity with women had no bounds tonight.

As usual, Bridgett was careful assembling her answer. “Well, I have a career where people respect me. I’m financially independent, which translates to a fabulous wardrobe. I’m in great health. I have a solid, if not annoying, family. And, I’m not married to someone like Skip. So yes, I’d say I’m pretty happy.”

Brody grinned at his sister’s response, but he was still troubled by the brief glimpse of pain he’d seen on her face.

“Now your turn, Brody. Are you happy?”

He resorted to his own comfortable mask. “I play professional football for lots of money. I drive fast cars. Women throw themselves at me. What’s not to be happy about?”

“God, we sound plastic,” she said and they both laughed.

“Did you ever want to do something else with your life?”

“Not if it means marrying someone like Skip.” She evaded his question with a quip before taking a sip of her Baileys. “Don’t tell me you pine for some life other than a superstar athlete, Brody?”

He was silent for a moment, realizing how silly his doubts were, even in the quiet darkness of the room. “I don’t know. I think I’m just tired of people’s expectations, you know?”

“They expect too much?”

Brody shook his head. “No, that I can handle. It’s the people who expect too little.”

“Interesting,” his sister said in her most lawyerly voice. “You’re finally tired of being the pretty boy.”

He shrugged, thinking it was a lot more than that, but he still couldn’t put it into words.

“Brody, you’re twenty-seven years old. Fortunately, you have a few dollars in your pocket, so you can take your time figuring out what you want to be when you grow up. But you will figure it out. Give it time. You’ve still got football.”

Yeah, but for how long?
He wanted to scream.

She stretched her long legs and stood. “In the meantime, I’m going to leave you to brood alone. If you’re going to sleep on the sofa, make sure you close the door so Mom doesn’t see you and cause a scene.”

She stepped closer to the fire and Brody glimpsed something he couldn’t pin down on her face. Concern nipped at his belly again.

“Bridgett, you’d tell me if something was wrong. If someone treated you badly?” he asked.

“Of course. Right after you tell me what’s going on between you and Shay.”

Brody rolled his eyes.

“I thought not,” she said, stretching up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “If I were Gwen or Ashley, I’d be telling you to run up there and make up with her. But I’m not. And sometimes it’s better to keep a safe distance. She’s not the type of girl you use, Brody. But I think you already know that. Good night, little brother.”

The inn had quieted down substantially an hour later when Brody crept up the stairs to the room he shared with Shannon. He was grateful she hadn’t locked him out because the sofa in the lounge was too cramped and too lumpy to double as a bed. Of course, he had no idea what awaited him inside, he only hoped Shannon had calmed down enough that they could both sleep without bloodshed.

The rhythm of her soft even breathing greeted him, but he didn’t see her on the bed. Following the sound, he spied her silhouette curled up on the divan beneath the dormer window. With her long legs, she couldn’t have been comfortable. He wanted to lift her over to the mattress, but he didn’t dare wake her. Her emotional outburst earlier had cost her and, frankly, he was glad one of them would sleep tonight.

Still showing deference even in her anger, she’d left him the bed and a pillow, only taking the warm comforter for herself. Brody pulled an itchy wool blanket from the closet, figuring it was his punishment. Most women would have tossed his ass out of the inn, but not Shannon. She was still a conundrum.

Not bothering to risk the noise he might make undressing, he laid down quietly on the bed, his eyes drawn in the darkness to the shadow of the bathroom door he’d destroyed. There was going to be hell to pay tomorrow. In more ways than one. For now, he let Shannon’s gentle breaths lull him to sleep.

THE GIRLFRIENDS’ GUIDE TO THE NFL

Oh my! It seems some guys just don’t know how to behave when they’re not on the gridiron. Brody Janik—number eighty in your program, but number one in our hearts—blazed his way through his three-day bye weekend enjoying a little too much of his sister’s wedding in Vermont. According to our sources, the tight end, who was traveling with the less desirable Everett twin, destroyed the suite the two were staying in. Now, some are saying the couple got into a Texas-sized knockdown drag-out. Miss Everett is reported to have left early the next morning with Brody’s teammate, Will Connelly. Unfortunately for Miss Everett, Connelly’s wife was also spied in the car. Or would that be unfortunately for William the Conqueror?

Our theory? It’s just another example of our favorite tight end’s wild sexual exploits. According to his previous companions, Brody does like to “experiment” in the bedroom. Perhaps Miss Everett couldn’t handle the
blaze
that burns within Brody. Whichever story you want to go with, Brody is going to need all his strength as he and his teammates face the meat of their schedule these next three weeks.

Nate was hovering again.
Ever since the story appeared on the Internet three days ago, he’d been shadowing her, keeping the players and other staffers at arm’s length. If Shay hadn’t been so danged tired, she might think it was funny. But she was in zombie mode, moving through her daily tasks on autopilot. Nate’s concern and attentiveness just didn’t compute.

It was Thursday afternoon. The team had just completed drills on the indoor practice field. Several of the players filtered through the commissary to pick up a protein bar or a shake before making their way to their breakout rooms, where they’d study films of this week’s opponent and become familiar with the game plan. Will Connelly glared at Nate, making the trainer take two steps back.

“How are you holding up?” Will stirred his shake with his straw as he spoke quietly to Shay.

The smile she pasted on her face felt brittle. “I’m fine.”

The big linebacker shook his head. “I’m breaking all kinds of rules of gentlemanly conduct by commenting on your looks, but, honestly Shay, you don’t look fine. You look dead on your feet. You can’t let this blogger get to you.” He took a step closer, blocking her from the other players in the room. “Look, Sophie is having dinner with Julianne tonight at our place. I know they want you to join them. Go. Have dinner. Just forget about all this crap for one night.”

If only it were that easy. Everywhere she turned, that blogger’s words showed up. Her thesis advisor had been uncharacteristically brusque the other day, rubber-stamping her latest analysis and hurrying her out of his office. Clearly, her seniors at water aerobics didn’t know what to think of her. Mrs. Benvenuto had unabashedly inspected her for bruises or signs of any altercation while the young lifeguards had leered at her from their chairs. Even her neighbor Jackie had looked unconvinced when Shay told her the whole story was nothing but crap. Adding insult to injury, Jackie had seemed more disappointed in Brody.

But no one was more upset than Mama. Shay had originally gone along with Brody’s cockamamie scheme to help her mama keep her salon. Except in the end, she may have hurt her. Meemaw’s friend was threatening to withdraw his support of Shay for the job at the prison because of Shay’s “soiled reputation.” The man’s rant had provided her the only comic relief of the week.
Were they truly worried about who worked with prisoners?
Mama reassured her that it would all work out, but Shay could hear the doubt in her voice. She’d inadvertently brought more shame on Mama and that embarrassed her. Not as much as everything that had—or hadn’t—happened with Brody embarrassed Shay, though.

Fortunately, Brody had given her a wide berth this week, avoiding the commissary altogether. His only contact had come through his agent, Roscoe Mathis, who called to assure her that Brody was issuing a statement denying all the blogger’s claims. Mr. Mathis had hired a private investigator to interview everyone at the inn in hopes of finding the blogger. And Brody planned to sue for damages on her behalf. All things considered, it was quite an about-face for Brody, who before would have considered Shay suspect number one.

“So, should I call home and tell them you’re coming?” Will’s question interrupted her musing.

“Thanks, but I have to pass. I’m tutoring Emma this afternoon and then I have some serious studying to do on my own.” The part about Emma was true anyway.

Will studied her, looking for a moment as if he was going to say more. Instead he leaned forward and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “That ought to give the snitch something to talk about,” he said with a wink. “Don’t study too hard. You’ll wear yourself out.” He gave Nate a hard look before wandering out of the commissary.

Nate scoffed behind her. “Really, Shannon, you shouldn’t be so taken in by these guys. They’re all full of themselves. They treat their jockstraps better than their women.”

Shay tried not to bristle at the trainer’s comments. She knew for a fact Will Connelly was devoted to his wife. “I’m a big girl, Nate. And I’m done for the day.” Pulling off her hairnet, she headed for the table where Emma had just deposited her books. “And trust me, I’ve learned my lesson where jocks are concerned.” She stopped to pat Nate on the shoulder. “But thanks.” It was actually nice having Nate on her side for once, despite his misguided remarks about the players.

The trainer puffed out his chest and headed for the training rooms as Shay sat down next to Emma. “How was the unit test last week?”

“Um . . . it was hard, but I got a B-plus.” Emma eyed her warily.

“That’s wonderful! So why do you look like I’m going to bite your head off?”

Emma toyed with her mechanical pencil. “It’s not that . . .”

Shay cringed in embarrassment. It didn’t come as a surprise that the coach’s daughter knew about the blog article. “But you want to know about the hooey that blogger said about me, right?”

“Well . . .” Emma’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It isn’t true, is it?” The look of consternation in her eyes nearly did Shay in.

“Not one word of it.”

Relief spread over the girl’s face as her mouth curved into a bashful grin. “Oh that’s good. I mean, like, I never thought it was true and all. Because you and Brody, you’re not like . . . that.”

Shay patted the girl’s arm. “No, we’re not. And it’s never okay to be in a relationship like that. Do you understand?”

“Oh my gosh, yes! My mom already talked to me about it. I’m just glad none of it is true, because I like you. And Brody, too. Daddy was threatening to tear him limb from limb. That would have been awful.” Her face flushed pink. “I mean, I don’t like Brody like that, you know. Because he’s your boyfriend and all. Besides, he’s too old for me. And you guys are sooooo cute together.”

Emma’s babbling didn’t offer Shay the chance to refute the boyfriend part, which was a good thing, because Shay wasn’t sure how she’d explain.

“Hi, Roscoe,” Emma beamed at a man who’d come to stand beside their table. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked out of place in the relaxed atmosphere of the practice facility. Of average height and average build, he clearly wasn’t here to play. “Hey there, Emma. Whatcha studying?”

“Chemistry,” Emma practically wailed. “But Shay’s tutoring me and I’m rocking the class.”

Roscoe smiled, his hazel eyes twinkling behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “It’s always good to know someone who can walk you through chemistry. I take it you’re Shannon Everett?”

Shay nodded, wondering what Brody’s agent was doing in Baltimore and why he seemed to be seeking her out.

“Everybody calls her Shay,” Emma clarified. “Shay this is Roscoe Mathis. He’s my Uncle Shane’s agent. And Will Connelly’s, too, right?” She looked at the agent for confirmation.

“And Brody’s,” Roscoe nodded. “Listen, Emma, can I interrupt your study session here for a minute. I just have something I need to speak with Shan—Shay about.”

Emma glanced from Roscoe to Shay. “Um . . . sure. I’ll just get myself some fro-yo so you can have some privacy.”

She made a beeline for the frozen yogurt dispenser as Roscoe slid into her seat. He laid a manila envelope on the table.

“I’m guessing you’re not here to tell me they’ve caught the blogger?”

Roscoe shook his head. “I’m sorry, no. Whoever it is knows how to cover their trail. I’m pretty sure Homeland Security are the only ones who can identify this person. Although, even then it might take them some doing.”

Shay’s stomach fell. It had been silly, getting her hopes up, but she had anyway.

He slid the envelope across the table. “Brody wanted this returned to you in person.”

She raised her eyebrows in question, before peeking inside the envelope.

“It’s the . . . agreement you entered into with Brody,” he explained.

Shay’s breath caught in her throat. Under the terms of the contract, if anything else negative was reported about Brody, he could go after Mama. “He’s going to execute it?” she gasped.

Understanding dawned on Roscoe’s face and he reached across the table and patted her hand. “No. He’s invalidating it. I was just going to tear it up, but he wanted it returned to you to do the honors. Your arrangement with Brody is null and void. The PI did a thorough investigation this week and everything indicates that you’re not the individual feeding information to this blogger.”

Her heart sank. “He had me checked out?” Had everything he’d said in Vermont been a lie?

“No, he didn’t. But I did.” The agent’s tone was fierce. “It’s my job to protect my clients from themselves. It wouldn’t have been the first time a woman sold Brody out.”

Shay struggled to keep up. Brody’s agent had suspected her, but Brody no longer did. She should be overjoyed; after all, she’d wanted no part of Brody’s blackmail. Except that she had. Not only because it gave her critical data for her dissertation, but it allowed her to be close to him.

“But what about his . . .” She looked around the commissary to ensure no one was listening. “. . . problem.”

Roscoe sighed. “I think I’ve secured someone who’ll supervise his diet and can keep quiet. I’m interviewing her this afternoon.”

“No!” Shay said before her brain was even engaged. The fact that Roscoe had mentioned it was a female had nothing to do with it. At least that’s what Shay told herself. “I’m in the middle of collecting data for my thesis and I can’t change data sources now.”

“Come again?” Roscoe seemed genuinely perplexed.

Shay had to force herself not to roll her eyes. “You didn’t think Brody was the only one getting something out of this deal, did you? I needed another subject, one whose diet I could control. It’s the perfect situation and I really don’t see why it can’t continue. I order his food for him and prepare it in my apartment. I collect his data electronically online through his Fitbit. The food is left in his house when he’s not home. He never has to see me again. But I have four more weeks of data I need to collect and he’s not getting out of it now.”

Roscoe leaned back in his chair, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Well, I’ll be damned. Another one of my clients has found a woman who isn’t afraid to stand up to him.”

“I’m not Brody’s
woman
. But I am going to be his nutritionist. At least for the next four weeks.”

“And after the four weeks?”

“I’ll collect my dissertation and go away.”

“That’s too bad,” he said as he stood. “I’ll let Brody know about the arrangements. It was nice to meet you, Shay. I really hope we meet again someday. See ya, Emma,” he called as he left the commissary.

 • • • 

It was a warm
Sunday night in the Arizona desert and the roof of University of Phoenix Stadium was open, allowing the dry breeze to ripple the flags, but not interfere with the football while it was in flight. Not that it mattered to Brody. He couldn’t seem to catch the ball even if it were coated with Stickum.

“Damn it, Brody,” Shane Devlin roared as he stormed off the field toward the sideline. “That one was . . . Right. On. The. Numbers! What the hell’s your problem tonight?” Devlin tossed his helmet toward the bench. The Blaze were down by thirteen to the Arizona Cardinals and there was still three minutes and fifteen seconds left in the half. Brody made his way to the end of the bench, better known as no-man’s-land. It was the area of the sideline a player gravitates to when he’s muffed a play. Brody hadn’t seen this piece of real estate since his rookie season, but tonight he’d practically set up camp there.

Purposely trying to avoid the lens of the television cameras, Brody watched with relief as the Blaze’s placekicker put the ball right through the uprights for three points. At least his team had come away with something. He guzzled a cup of water, turning to toss it to one of the ball boys, only to see Coach bearing down on him. Not a good sign.

“Are you still on East Coast time or something, Janik?” The bill of Matt Richardson’s ball cap brushed against Brody’s forehead. Coach wasn’t normally an in-your-face kind of guy, but apparently Brody’s piss-poor performance brought it out in him tonight.

“No, sir.”

“Good,” Coach said. “Because I need you to move when the ball is hiked and I need you to catch the ball when it’s thrown to you! You’re being moved to the third check-down for the rest of this game. If the other two receivers aren’t open, Devlin might throw the ball to you. In the meantime, you’d better get your body on that line and block. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

It wasn’t unusual for a tight end to be called upon to block. In fact, the majority of players at that position spend the bulk of their career doing that. But Brody had made a name for himself as a receiver—the Blaze’s primary receiver. The demotion was definitely intended as a punishment.

The Blaze defense held and the half ended with them only trailing by ten. Once in the locker room, players made their way toward the urinals or to grab a drink before they broke into groups based on positions and went over changes to the game plan for the second half. Brody discreetly pricked his finger to check his blood. As he suspected, the reading was in the normal range. Despite the stressful week, he’d been strictly adhering to Shannon’s nutritional plan.

When food continued to show up in his refrigerator, complete with a daily schedule posted on the door, Brody had been surprised—until he remembered the stupid contract he’d made Shannon sign. He’d insisted Roscoe return the document to her in person, letting her off the hook. Roscoe had shocked the hell out of him when he’d told him Shannon demanded she continue to plan his menu so she could collect data for her research project. Brody should have known she was using him as a human guinea pig for her dissertation. He’d actually laughed for the first time all week when he found out. Still, Roscoe warned Brody to hire a food taster, just in case.

“Yo, Janik. You gonna join us or are you daydreaming about destroying hotel rooms over there?” the receiver’s coach yelled out. The rest of the locker room snickered, except for Shane Devlin, who just eyeballed Brody as he took his place with the rest of the ball handlers.

The second half went a lot better than the first. DeShawn turned it up a notch, charging across the goal line twice to put the Blaze ahead. The Cardinals pulled within one with an early fourth-quarter field goal. Brody managed to pull down his one and only catch in the closing minutes of the game, but it was for only three yards and his team needed four for a first down. Arizona charged down the field with seconds left, scoring a field goal as time ran out.