Risky Game (17 page)

Brody reached out to pull her off to the side, where he could speak privately to her, to somehow make peace with her, but she slipped free of his grasp and hurried down the long hallway to the stadium concourse as a sob escaped her throat. He opened his mouth to call after her, before thinking better of it. Apparently, he’d already given the crowd congregating at the locker room door enough to talk about.

“Damn, Brody, I told you to kiss the woman, not make her cry.” DeShawn glared at him before stalking into the locker room.

Juggling a still-fussy Owen and her big diaper bag, Julianne chased after Shannon, but not before leveling a fierce scowl at Brody. Carly trotted behind her, cursing him as she went. He felt like he was in the middle of a really bad dream when his sister Bridgett emerged from the shadows, a pitying look on her face. Shaking her head, she trailed after the other women.

“Shake it off, Janik. I mean it. Kickoff is in an hour,” Devlin demanded as he and Connelly entered the locker room.

But Brody couldn’t shake it off. He ran his routes perfectly, but somehow the ball wouldn’t stay in his hands. Making matters worse, DeShawn went down with a thigh injury midway through the first half, thereby eliminating any sort of running game. For the first time in Brody’s career, the boo-birds chorused as he made his way to the locker room after a second consecutive Blaze loss, this one not close at all.

The locker room was quiet, the players keeping to themselves while they shed their pads and dirty uniforms. A few of the receivers whispered hushed comments, peeking over their shoulders at him, but Brody ignored them. The media would be coming in a few minutes and he wanted to make sure he was long gone by then, avoiding the painful locker-front interviews. Normally, only the coach and the quarterback addressed the postgame press conference, so he wasn’t obligated to stay.

“Janik,” Devlin called across the locker room as Brody headed for the safety of the shower. “Be here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

A few snickers escaped from the offensive line, but the rest of the team was silent as Brody nodded, making his way to the showers in disgrace. As he let the warm spray pummel his body, he knew that no amount of playing fetch with his quarterback was going to fix what was bothering him. It was ironic that the one woman who managed to keep his blood sugar under control had managed to mess up every other part of his body. The conundrum that was Shannon Everett had taken hold of him—and his mojo—and wouldn’t let go.

THE GIRLFRIENDS’ GUIDE TO THE NFL

Number
ochenta
is definitely down on his luck. Some might even say cursed. After his reckless weekend in Vermont, every girl’s favorite tight end seems to be having trouble keeping his eye on the ball. Probably because his eyes are too busy mooning over his very off-again girlfriend, PhD student Shannon Everett. Miss Everett, need we remind you, is the not-so-better-looking twin sister of Dallas Cowboys cheerleader Teryn Everett. Apparently brains don’t make up for beauty, because according to sources within the Blaze organization, this Everett sister has left our Brody high and dry, taking his game-day confidence with her.

“Damn it, Hank! I
want whoever is writing this bullshit found. And when you do, I’m going to rip their teeth out with my bare hands!”

“Whoa, Brody, calm down.” The Blaze GM motioned for Brody to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Brody had been feeling twitchy ever since that blogger’s ugly words appeared on the Internet earlier that morning. His knee banged the side of Hank’s desk as he tried to sit still.

“I can’t calm down, Hank. It’d be different if this was just embarrassing me, but it’s not. She’s after the whole team and Shannon as well. I can’t stand by and let whoever this is get away with it.”

Hank sighed. “Brody, right now Donovan, the league, and every other club all have people looking for this blogger. Unfortunately, even if she is found, it’s going to be hard to shut her down. The crux of the matter is everything she’s reported has been factual.”

Brody sprung from his chair. “I didn’t tear up a hotel room playing some kinky sex game or fighting with Shannon!”

Hank held a hand up to quiet him down. “But you did damage that room, Brody, didn’t you?”

Damn.
Brody slumped back into his chair.

“And you have had a little trouble on the field these past two weeks.” The GM ignored Brody’s scowl and continued. “While I think it’s admirable that you want to protect Shay from all this, she needs to know some of this comes with the territory of dating a superstar. You can’t always control how you are portrayed in the media. She’s a smart woman and I think she knows how these things work. On the flip side, Brody, you’re getting paid a lot of money to keep all of this off the field. Let us worry about shoring up the leaks within our clubhouse and you worry about catching the football. That’s your only job right now.”

Feeling chastised, Brody headed for the door.

“Brody,” Hank’s voice stopped him. “Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you? You usually don’t rattle so easily.”

There were a lot of things bothering Brody right now, one of them a time bomb that—if it were revealed—wouldn’t leave Hank looking so calm. Obviously, he needed to play things a lot cooler or the GM would sniff the real reason Brody was feeling so twitchy. Hank was right; getting his game back in synch was the most important thing right now. “It’s all good.”

“I hope so,” Hank said as Brody stepped out into the hallway.

Me, too,
Brody thought.
Me, too
.

An hour later, after three unanswered calls to Shannon, Brody stood near the goalpost of the Blaze practice field. The rain peppering the roof of the bubble matched his demeanor. He’d just finished a lengthy conversation with his manager, Roscoe, who kept hinting about bringing on a sports shrink. Brody didn’t need a shrink. He just needed a few minutes—or a few days—alone with Shannon to work things out, only she’d gone into hiding. Bridgett was suspiciously missing from his house, too, making Brody think his sister was responsible for Shannon’s disappearance.

A football suddenly whizzed by his head, missing his left ear by mere centimeters. Brody jumped, looking over his shoulder to see Matt Richardson standing thirty yards downfield, palming another football. Despite being fifteen years out of the game, the coach could still throw it. The second ball ricocheted off the crossbar of the goalpost, nearly clocking Brody in the head.

Brody shuffled to the sideline, retrieving one of the balls.

“Hey there, Coach. Where’s Devlin?” The quarterback had texted him earlier, saying he was going to be late but he didn’t mention their coach joining them.

“Home. Resting his arm. The last thing I need is him wearing himself out trying to get you out of your love funk.”

Another bullet. Brody had to react fast to catch it in the bread basket.

“You’re stuck with me.” Coach didn’t bother to disguise the menacing glee in his voice. He loved nothing more than to air out his own arm in practice once in a while. Somehow, Brody didn’t think today was going to be one of those fun catch-and-release workout sessions.

“I told you what would happen if you made that girl cry.” Coach launched the ball like a laser, this one nearly catching him in the family jewels, and Brody cursed. That particular part of his body was suffering enough already.

He had no trouble figuring out who
that girl
was that Coach was talking about. The skeleton crew and players who ventured into the practice facility on Mondays had all wasted no time giving him the cold shoulder. Brody didn’t have to wonder whose camp they were all firmly in. But he did take exception to the fact that everyone assumed Shannon was the only miserable one here.

“Run a post route and then glance in,” Coach called out.

Christ, he was going to make Brody run. He sprinted thirty-five yards before breaking to the inside in front of the goalpost. Coach threw it a little high, but Brody extended his hands and caught the pass as if it were thrown perfectly. The thrill of catching a ball on the run still gave him a quick high. He trotted back over to the coach.

“Nice catch.” Coach flipped another ball between his hands. “Too bad you couldn’t manage to do that when it was third and long yesterday.”

“You threw the ball better than Devlin.” Brody figured it couldn’t hurt to do some sucking up.

“Cut the shit, Janik.” But Brody noticed the coach stood a little taller at the compliment. “Let’s try Rebel Reverse with a right slant.”

Thirty minutes later, Brody was dogging it while the coach looked like he could throw all morning. The guy would probably need ultrasound and an hour in the whirlpool by the time they finished. Thankfully, Coach’s cell phone rang. He took the call while Brody guzzled some water.

“I’ve gotta go talk to the trainers about yesterday’s injuries,” Coach said pocketing his cell phone. “Obviously, your problem isn’t anything physical, Brody. So that means you need to get your head back where it belongs, in the game.”

Easier said than done.
“Yes, Coach,” Brody said anyway.

“And whatever is wrong with you and Shay, work it out. Either you’re together or you’re not, but I don’t want it to be a distraction on the field, in the locker room, or in my damn house any longer, got it?”

Clenching his teeth, Brody nodded.
Again, easier said than done.
In order to work things out with Shannon, he’d have to find her first.

 • • • 

Shay managed to avoid
Brody for three full days. It had taken her that long to recover from the kiss they’d shared at the stadium. After vowing she’d never allow him to touch her again, she’d let him kiss her as if he were going off to be executed. Worse, she’d kissed him back, like a woman drowning. Even though she knew better than to get involved with a player like Brody, the man had managed to get under her skin. Fortunately, Bridgett had become an unlikely ally, taking her to the hotel suite her firm leased for her use. Shay spent three days reinforcing her heart in five-star luxury. She didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about skipping her Tuesday session with her academic advisor and her swim classes with her seniors later that afternoon.

“Brody’s been staked out here all day,” Jackie told her on Tuesday. “I’m not sure who was more excited when the school bus dropped Maddox off, my son or Brody.”

He’d gone to the aquatic center looking for her, too. According to the substitute who’d taught Shay’s class, the geriatric crowd had given Brody so much unsolicited advice on his athletic abilities and his love life that she was sure he wouldn’t come back the next day.

But it was Bridgett’s words that brought Shay out of her seclusion. Brody’s sister had been delivering his meals each day, believing she was only helping Shay with her dissertation. If Bridgett knew she was covering up her brother’s condition, she might not have been so willing. Shay had played hooky from the practice facility, too, claiming she was sick, so she eagerly soaked up any information about all things Brody.

“Brody’s manager wants him to see a sports psychologist,” she told Shay over dinner the previous evening.

“Brody’s problem isn’t in his head,” Shay said.

“At least not that head,” his sister joked.

Shame and embarrassment washed through Shay. If she hadn’t have reacted the way she did in Vermont, none of this would have happened. She should never have gone to the wedding in the first place, but she’d gotten carried away with her own infatuation with Brody, believing he would be interested in an innocent like her.

But Brody’s issues on the football field had nothing to do with her. His problem was that he’d been spoiled all his life, with everything coming naturally to him. Suddenly, life had thrown him a bunch of curves—hiding his battle with his blood sugar so he could get his contract extension being the worst—and he had to do a little extra work to overcome those challenges. Brody wasn’t exactly used to having to do anything more than was necessary. He certainly didn’t need a shrink to work those things out.

And he didn’t need to be obsessing over her. It was time they talked.

Nate ran interference as Shay made protein shakes and doled them out to the waiting players before Thursday’s practice.

“What up, Sha-nay-nay?” DeShawn was the first to make his way into the commissary. “Are you feelin’ better?”

“Yeah, thanks, DeShawn. It was just a cold.”

“Cold my ass! That dumb Janik obviously just doesn’t know how to satisfy his woman.”

As if Shay’s embarrassment at DeShawn’s outburst weren’t enough, one of the big offensive linemen lumbered over to add his own two cents. “Yeah, Shay, but we’re working on him. You just need to give him another chance, that’s all.”

“Seriously, Shay,” Jamal Hollis joined his teammates as Shay began to pray the floor would open up and swallow her. “We need you two to make up. Obviously, he plays better when he’s . . . well . . . he’s—”

“Gettin’ regular lovin’!” DeShawn finished for him. He took a step closer, pulling a dog-eared catalog out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Maybe something from in here will help. Brody had this on him when we went to Cleveland last month. The dude must have known he was going to need a little help in the bedroom.”

Mortification gripped Shay. It was the sex toy catalog she’d given to Brody to catch the snitch. DeShawn tried to hand it to her, but the pages practically singed her fingertips.

“Just pick something out that might interest you and we’ll take care of getting it to Brody,” DeShawn was saying, but Shay barely heard him, her head had begun to spin. Up until now, she’d thought it impossible that a person could actually die from embarrassment. But the way she was feeling right now, she wasn’t so sure. Shucking her hairnet, she hightailed it out of the commissary and back to the relative safety of Bridgett’s hotel room.

She rescheduled Emma’s weekly tutoring session to take place at the Richardson home rather than the practice facility. Shay didn’t think she could endure another run in with DeShawn and his posse.

“So you’re good with quantum numbers? You understand it for the quiz?”

Emma nodded, her blue eyes earnest as she shuffled the papers on the big farmhouse table in the middle of the keeping room off the kitchen. A fire blazed in the giant hearth, its crackles comforting against the chilly drizzle that seemed to linger over the mid-Atlantic area for the past few days. Shay was feasting on tea and homemade butterscotch cookies prepared for her by Penny, the Richardson’s housekeeper.

“Daddy’s still angry at Brody,” Emma said. “He said if he doesn’t start catching the ball he won’t get his contract renewed next year.”

“Brody’s just in a slump right now. I’m sure he’ll be fine this week.” At least that’s what Shay hoped because the strain of Brody’s poor performance was beginning to take a toll on her as well.

“I don’t know. My mom used to be a couples’ therapist and she thinks maybe you and Brody need to talk things out. I mean, you guys are still a couple and all, right?”

Shay was a little chagrined that she and Brody were being discussed around the dinner table at the Richardson house, but then again it seemed all of Baltimore had an interest in Brody’s love life.

“Nothing has changed in our relationship,” she hedged, hoping the teenager would buy it.

But Emma eyed her skeptically. “Daddy said Brody is a lovesick puppy. Maybe you should just, I don’t know, let him have his way or something. At least during the season, you know? My dad gets really grumpy when the team loses, so you’d be doing me a favor, too.”

Great.
As if it weren’t bad enough that Brody’s teammates were practically throwing sex toys at her; now she was getting relationship advice from a teenager.

“There’s really nothing to let Brody
have his way
about, Emma.” This was a bald-faced lie. There was
something
she could let Brody have his way on, but he’d already blown that chance. She wasn’t sure she had the strength for a round two.

“I don’t mean about anything big. Just maybe let him pick the restaurant or what to watch on TV. That kind of stuff.” The fifteen-year-old’s innocence might have made Shay laugh if she hadn’t felt so on edge from her day.

“I’ll do my best, Em, but I really think Brody just had two bad games, that’s all.”

Penny came into the kitchen. “Emma, hon, you need to get changed for dance class. Carpool will be here in ten minutes to pick you up.”

Apparently reassured that all would be right with Brody and the Blaze, Emma bounded up the back stairs to change. Shay gathered up her book bag and headed for the back door.

“This is for you,” Penny said, handing her a check. Then, she quickly scanned the kitchen before handing Shay a small white shopping bag with red tissue paper sticking out on top. “This, too, hon.”

Shay eyed the bag cautiously.

“It’s just a little something I thought you might like so you can, you know, spice things up a bit with Brody. I’m sure with a man like that it’s hard to keep things . . . interesting. If he’s happy in the bedroom, maybe he’ll perform better on the field.”

Did everyone associated with the team think it was her fault Brody wasn’t performing well? On or off the field? She was afraid to look in the bag, but Penny looked so excited, Shay was forced to poke a finger in, pulling out a lacy red thong with the Blaze emblem adorning the scrap of fabric holding the strings together.