Risky Game (21 page)

“Relax,” Devlin said as he chugged a sports drink. “You played awesome tonight, Brody. This game’s in the bag.”

Brody hoped so. He was starting to feel a little light-headed. It was the team’s first night game since their home opener and, despite Shannon’s modified schedule, his sugar was bordering on low at halftime. He needed to get back to the locker room and get some food in him soon. Not to mention that the sooner the game ended, the sooner he’d see Shannon again.

Since he hadn’t had to report to the team hotel until Sunday afternoon, they’d spent Sunday morning napping and talking. Brody was surprised at how comfortable he felt with her, how relaxed. He didn’t have to hold anything back and it stunned him to realize how much he’d been holding back from people and relationships these past few years. It was a relief to know he could be himself with her.

And the sex wasn’t bad, either. Sure, he’d been with women a hell of a lot more experienced than Shannon, but none more enticing. Or studious. His body grew hard just thinking about what she might have looked up today.

“Ah, hell! Wipe that silly smirk off your face, Brody,” Devlin complained as he picked up his helmet. “Connelly let the running back out of bounds and now the clock is stopped. Looks like I’m going to have to go out there and take a knee. Try not to let anyone sneak around you and
accidently
tackle me, will ya?”

Brody swore as he followed his quarterback onto the field. “It happened one time, Devlin, and it really was an accident. The dumbass slipped on his shoelace!”

 • • • 

In the locker room
after the victory, Brody’s lightheadedness had abated thanks to a protein bar and an orange Shannon had tucked into his bag.

“She keeps you prepared, doesn’t she?” His personal trainer, Erik, didn’t bother to hide his displeasure with Shannon. As best as he could tell, the trainer didn’t like the fact Brody was relying on Shannon to prepare his menu and not Erik or someone of his choosing.

“Yeah, she’s thorough,” he responded quietly, careful that no one in their vicinity could overhear.

“But not a professional.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Brody zipped up his bag and hefted it over his shoulder. “She’s very nearly a professional and her plan is working, Erik, so I don’t see what your concern is.”

Erik shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe I think it’s a bad idea, you mixing business with pleasure.”

Brody glared at his friend of the past seven years. Erik was highly regarded among players in the league and Brody knew he was lucky to be among the handful of athletes the trainer individually coached. He also knew he paid the man an obscene salary to keep him at his athletic peak, but that salary didn’t allow him to malign Shannon.

“You’re over the line here, Erik.”

“So you trust her?”

“Unequivocally.” Brody didn’t bother to keep the displeasure for this line of discussion from his voice. “Shannon is completely vested in helping me manage my condition.”

“Until she isn’t.”

Brody froze on his way to the exit where the bus that would take them back to the practice facility waited. Erik’s ominous words burned in his gut.

“Face it, Brody. When you break her heart, and you will, you know, she’ll sell you out in a heartbeat. They all do.”

He faced down the trainer, checking the nod he nearly gave acknowledging the partial truth of Erik’s statement. But that had been in the past.

“This is different.” Defiantly turning on his heel, he headed for the bus determined that, indeed, this time would be different.

“Ah, man, I love
Milk Duds.” Brody shook the tiny box and the balls of chocolate-covered caramel bounced around inside.

“You can have ’em,” Maddox said around the wad of bubble gum in his mouth.

“No, Maddox, he may not. And that’s enough candy for you, too.” Shay shoved the mountain of Halloween candy back into the plastic bag.

“Dang, Brody,” Maddox said. “How come she never lets you have any candy?”

Maddox and Brody were sprawled on a sofa in the Blaze entrance area. Kids of all ages—children of players and staff, as well as some from local organizations the Blaze sponsored—roamed about dressed in Halloween costumes and trading candy. Maddox’s plastic X-Men mask was pushed back upon his head, his feet dangling over the side of the sofa.

“Because she’s a mean ol’ sheriff, Maddox, and she likes to punish me.” Brody’s fingers brushed the back of her thigh just below her skirt and Shay blushed at both his double entendre and the burn his touch brought to her skin. She’d dressed as a cowgirl, wearing her boots, her Stetson, a chamois shirt, and khaki skirt. A sheriff’s star and holster she’d bought at the dollar store rounded out her costume. There’d been a few snickers about handcuffs from some of the players, but Brody’s glare had taken care of them instantly.

As expected, Brody had no trouble getting into the spirit of Halloween, dressing as Iron Man. A big kid himself, he led a parade of children trick-or-treating throughout the facility. The return of his game meant the return of the happy-go-lucky Brody everyone knew. Shay took some of the credit in the improvement of his on-field performance, but only in so far as she was no longer a distraction to him. He’d move on soon enough—his kind always did—but in the meantime, she was determined to get the most out of their relationship. There wasn’t another man like Brody in her future.

“Come on, Maddox. Grab your stuff. Tomorrow is a school day and we need to get you home,” Shay said, gathering up the posters and mini footballs the boy had managed to collect throughout the evening.

“I gotta say good-bye to Troy first.” Before she could stop him, Maddox was jogging across the room to find the other ball boys.

Brody’s long fingers manacled her wrist and he pulled her down practically in his lap. “Tonight, I want you to wear that hat. The holster, too,” he murmured. “And nothing else.”

Shay could feel her face burning as stroked the skin on her calf beneath her boot. “Brody!” she whispered, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to them.

“Okay, maybe these sexy boots, too, but that’s all,” he said, seemingly not caring a lick who heard him.

He stared at the boots as if fixated on them, a slow smile spreading over his face, never doubting that she wouldn’t refuse him. And she wouldn’t. Try as she might, she couldn’t. She dug her fingers into his bicep to capture his attention.

“I thought you didn’t need toys,” she challenged.

His nostrils flared and his grin turned wicked as he stood them both up, palming her bottom on the way to his feet.

“Giddy up, sheriff. Let’s drop off the X-Man and then”—he breathed into her ear—“I’m going to take you for a ride you won’t forget.”

It was a good thing he had hold of her arm, because the heat of the words on the bare skin of her neck nearly brought her to her knees.

Two hours later, she lay spent on top of Brody’s broad chest, his heart still pounding beneath her cheek. His hand was tracing figures on her hip again, almost as if he were diagramming plays. Her fingers stroked his jaw, the stubble of his five o’clock shadow rough beneath her caress. Brody turned his head slightly to kiss the tender skin on her fingers.

“You were right, you know,” she said.

“Mmmm. I told you it would be the ride of your life.”

“Not that.” She halfheartedly swiped at his chest and he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Although it was amazing,” she said, the blush stinging her face. “But I was talking about the blogger. She’s totally left you alone after those pictures were posted of us in Little Italy.”

“Correction. She’s left
us
alone.” He snuggled her more closely against his body. “And while I may not be as smart as the great Dr. Shannon Everett, I do know how to manage the paparazzi.”

“I’m not a doctor yet. I still have six more weeks.”

His hand stilled on her hip. “Six more weeks? That’s all?”

“After four years, six weeks doesn’t sound like a lot, but I can’t wait for it to be over.”

Brody was so quiet for the next few moments that Shay thought he’d gone to sleep. She rolled over on top of his chest to peek at his face. His eyes were wide open as he contemplated the ceiling. “Brody?”

“And then you’ll be working in a prison.” That invisible spot on the ceiling still held him transfixed. “You actually sound excited.”

Shay sighed, resting her chin on her hand over Brody’s heart. “I wouldn’t call it excited as much as relieved. It’s a really good-paying job and it will save Mama. For once in my adult life, I’ll be working normal hours and only one job. So, yeah, for those reasons I’m excited.”

“But it’s in a damn prison!”

“
At
a prison, Brody. I’ll have an office on the grounds, but I won’t be walking the cell blocks.”

“You’re awfully cavalier about this, Shannon.” Brody’s body had become tense beneath hers. “You could do so much more. Be so much more.”

“I know I can and I will. But right now I have to do this to help Mama. I realized a long time ago that my life wasn’t going to be a fairy tale, Brody, and I’m good with it. Not everyone gets to have
your
life.”

She realized the unfairness of her words as soon as she said them. Brody’s jaw firmed and it seemed as if his whole body bristled. Shay knew he wrestled with his celebrity and the ease with which he achieved it. But she also knew he’d never had to make the tough choices, so it was difficult for him to comprehend her path in life—one that had been chosen for her as a child much as his had been.

Trying to lighten up the mood, she leaned down and flicked her tongue over his nipple. “But this has definitely been a great way to finish out four years of studious drudgery.”

With a growl, Brody flipped them over so he was on top, his nose touching hers and his hips pinning hers in place. “But you don’t start until January, right.” He made the question into a statement of fact. “So it’s really eight weeks.”

She didn’t bother arguing with his logic she was too busy enjoying what his finger was doing between her legs. “Yes,” she sighed.

“Good,” he said, before his mouth found her nipple.

It wasn’t until hours later that Shay realized he managed to charmingly negotiate their fling—or whatever it was they were doing—to last through the end of the season.

 • • • 

Brody quietly shrugged off
his jacket at the back of the church and slid into the pew next to Sister Agnes. She eyed him speculatively, but didn’t speak. The monsignor began the seven
A.M.
service before a sparsely populated sanctuary. It was a relief for Brody to finally get back to his game-day routine after a month when the Blaze had only played once at home on a Sunday. Since that Monday night game at the end of October, they’d won all four outings, with Brody and his teammates handling the toughest part of their schedule relatively easily. But he was a creature of habit and he liked his life to be predictable.

Of course, the most changeable element in his life now was Shannon and he could no sooner control her then he could the wind swirling around inside the stadium. She wasn’t needy or clingy like the women he’d been in relationships with in the past and that should have made him happy.
Except it didn’t
. Her independence and dogged determination irked him. It’s not that he wanted her undivided attention all the time, but maybe more than just when they were in bed.

Brody was aware that he wasn’t being fair; Shannon worked harder than anyone he’d ever known. She’d spent the last month pounding out her dissertation while still teaching water aerobics, tutoring Emma, working in the commissary, and tending that stupid bar. Most important, she’d kept scheduling and preparing meals for him and he’d never felt better. Thanks to her attentiveness in the kitchen—and in the bedroom—he was at the top of his game again. Sure, she was hanging around to pad the data in her research, but he hoped she was doing it for other reasons as well.

His trainer Erik’s concerns about Brody breaking Shannon’s heart and her unleashing his secret on the media were laughable because Brody was fairly certain her heart wasn’t engaged. When the season was over, they could part ways as friends; Shannon with her doctorate and Brody with his contract extension. He just had to keep reminding himself how that was a good thing.

Sister Agnes rapped his thigh with her rosary beads and Brody folded his long legs onto the kneeler and bowed his head.

“You’d better be paying better attention when Devlin throws you the ball today.” Sister Agnes whispered sternly. “Houston’s secondary isn’t as forgiving as the Lord is.”

He mumbled an apology, realizing that he’d daydreamed through the first half of the mass. As they took their seats again, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Discreetly, he checked the screen. A picture of Shannon appeared and Brody squirmed in his seat. Last night, he’d tried his best to get her to play along with some phone sex, only to end up with her dissolving into peals of laughter on the other end of the call. He’d gone to sleep frustrated and horny, picturing her blushing enchantingly as she laughed her way through their unsuccessful attempt. It was a bit easier to see the humor this morning and, smiling, he eased his body to a more relaxed position.

Sister Agnes elbowed him in the ribs and Brody slid his phone back into his pocket like a chastised schoolboy, mumbling another apology.

The nun broke out into a huge grin. “She’s a lovely girl,” she whispered. “It’s nice to see you in love, Brody.”

His head cocked to the right abruptly. “I’m not in love.” He’d forgotten to whisper and a few of the early morning parishioners craned their necks to listen.
Hell.
Just when he’d thrown the blogger off his scent.

“Pffft,” Sister Agnes whispered. “Oh, Brody. I’m old and wise and I have connections.” She pointed to the rafters high above. “You’re in love.”

Sister Agnes rose to take communion and Brody followed her mutely. He wasn’t in love with Shannon. Sure, he loved the way she’d taught him how to tame his illness and manage it while he played. And, yeah, he loved the way she made him feel: relaxed and grounded. Not to mention the way she felt when she was wrapped around him. But that didn’t mean he was in love with her.

Brody wiped the sweat off his brow as he made his way back to the pew where Sister Agnes sat deep in reflection, a smug smile on her face. His phone vibrated a second time and he scanned the text message.

“Holy . . .”

Sister Agnes rapped him with her beads again.

Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he grabbed his jacket. Sister Agnes eyed him with concern.

“Devlin’s wife just had her baby,” he whispered.

“Sweet mercy,” she said. “Kickoff’s at one.” With that she leaned over her beads and began praying in earnest.

There was a nervous buzz in the air when Brody got back to the hotel. Usually Sunday mornings before kickoff, the players were reflective and quiet, getting their game faces on. Even the coaches and staff kept it low-key until they would arrive at the stadium. But today, players were anxiously swarming the lobby, openly wondering whether the team’s leader would be playing.

“When that crazy television guy shot at Carly, and Troy got knocked out, Devlin walked out on the game and went to the hospital,” DeShawn was saying to the crowd of assembled receivers and rushers.

Brody stepped in among them. “That was a preseason game and Troy had a head injury. Carly and their daughter are fine. He’ll be here.” At least he hoped so. When he’d spoken to Shannon on the walk back to the hotel, she’d said everything had gone as planned during the delivery, according to Julianne, and the quarterback had every intention of playing.

“You better hope so, dude, because if I remember right, our backup, Mr. Potato Head over there, threw multiple pick-sixes that night.” DeShawn pointed toward the lobby door, where Jake Larson, the Blaze second-string quarterback trudged to the bus, the position coach peppering him with information as they walked.

“Yeah, well he was a rookie then,” Brody said, trying to add some confidence to his voice. The fact of the matter was, Jake took ten reps a week in practice, the rest of the time leading the practice squad against the Blaze defense. Brody had no freaking idea if the guy was ready.

“Shit,” Brody swore as he grabbed his bag and headed for the bus behind Larson. Maybe he could sit next to the guy on the ride over and try to calm his nerves. But when he boarded the bus, he spied Will Connelly sitting quietly in one of the front seats, a pained look on his face. He looked from his friend to the second-string quarterback at the rear of the bus.

Double damn!

Brody was one of only a few people who knew the truth about Will and Julianne’s early relationship. The linebacker had been devastated when he found out he had a son he hadn’t known existed. Worse, Julianne never intended to let him know about the baby until Owen’s near brush with death. Devlin becoming a father earlier this morning likely reminded his friend of all that he’d missed.

Sensing his hesitation, Connelly waved Brody off.

“You good?” Brody asked, not wanting to leave the cerebral linebacker to his troubled thoughts, but needing to work on calming Larson’s nerves.

“Yeah, Brody, I’m good.”

Brody squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll get your chance, dude.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m working on it.” Connelly gave Brody a short-lived smile; one that held a lot of hope in it.

Moving down the aisle of the charter bus, Brody tried to come up with some words of encouragement for the team’s backup, but as he slid into a seat, a cheer went up at the front. Shane Devlin had arrived, looking jubilant and ready for battle.