Risky Game (4 page)

“Enjoy your dinner, Brody.” The man grinned, wagging a bushy eyebrow at her before he slipped back behind the counter.

The three men who’d tried to pick her up were no longer within sight. Shay reached over to take her handbasket back, but Brody tightened his grip; his other hand taking a firm hold of her elbow.

“We need eggs, remember,” he said as he steered her toward the dairy section.

Shay tried to pull out of his grip, but it was no use. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because someone needed to help you back there.”

Planting her feet firmly, she watched Brody’s face war with whether to make a scene by pulling her along or to stop and answer her.

“I could have handled them.” She jerked her chin up in victory when he finally ceased pulling.

A lazy smile spread across Brody’s face, igniting a firestorm in Shay’s belly.

“Yeah, Texas, you could have,” he admitted after a speculative pause. “One of them. Maybe even two. But not all three. That third guy was after a lot more than just a few beers and an episode of
The Hills
on MTV. He was all set to take advantage of you.”

“Recognize something of yourself in him?”

Brody pulled back as if she’d slapped him, his grip tightening on her elbow.

It was a cruel thing to say and he didn’t deserve it. Shay wasn’t sure why she’d even said it, except that she’d enjoyed his kiss and the knowledge that he’d only done it as a lark hurt.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but she was interrupted by one of the seniors from the water aerobics classes she taught.

“Oh my, Shay,” Mrs. Goldberg was saying, her silver curls bobbing with excitement as she stepped in their path. “No wonder you left the pool in such a hurry today. What a nice hunk of beefcake you have for yourself.”

“Stella!” Mrs. Benvenuto, a retired school teacher who was forever trying to keep her outspoken friend in line, parked her shopping cart next to Shay. “You’re embarrassing the poor girl. Look how red she is.” Still, the woman managed to smile coyly at Brody.

Shay didn’t need her geriatric clients to tell her that her skin was flaming, her entire body felt like she was about to self-combust. The firm grip Brody had on her arm wasn’t helping matters.

Mrs. Benvenuto tapped Shay’s free arm. “You’ve been holding out on us, honey.” Her gravely pack-a-day voice was laced with awe before she fixed her attention on Brody. “You may be some hotshot football player, but if you break our girl’s heart, you’ll have to answer to us and the rest of her aqua clients. We may look frail, but thanks to our Shay, we’re tough.”

Shay didn’t know whether to laugh out loud at Mrs. Benvenuto’s misperception—did anyone really think Brody Janik would look twice at her—or to shed a few tears at the loyalty of a group of arthritic angels she worked out in the pool three times a week. She wasn’t given the chance to do either, though, as Brody wasted no time unleashing another one of his devastating smiles, its impact nearly vaporizing both grandmothers into puffs of the Shalimar perfume they wore.

“Have no fear, ladies,” he said, the effortless laid-back charm oozing out of his pores practically steaming up Mrs. Goldberg’s glasses. “I have no intention of breaking any hearts tonight. Just cracking some eggs. We’re making brownies.” He lifted up the handbasket for their inspection. “If you’ll excuse us, we need to grab a dozen so we can get these in the oven. It was a pleasure seeing you both.”

Mrs. Goldberg sighed lustfully as Brody tugged Shay around the two ladies.

“Brownies from a box? Doesn’t he know the woman is practically a gourmet cook,” Mrs. Benvenuto said to Mrs. Goldberg. But Brody wasn’t paying attention and, judging from the tense grip he still had on her elbow, he was apparently as eager to get out of the store as Shay was.

“Bye-bye, Shay!” Mrs. Goldberg called. “We want to hear all about those
brownies
in class tomorrow!”

Laughter from the two ladies echoed through the small store as Brody and Shay finally reached the dairy aisle. Releasing her elbow, he grabbed a dozen eggs and gingerly tossed the carton into the basket. Shay rolled her eyes.

“You need to make sure none of them are cracked.” She opened the carton and inspected the eggs, gently fingering each one.

Brody stared as she carefully closed the carton.

“Is there anything you don’t do?” he asked. His voice held a bit of reverence, the tone making Shay’s knees a little wobbly.

She held his gaze, letting the moment stretch. There were quite a few things she didn’t do, but she didn’t think he needed to know about them.

Mistaking her silence for misunderstanding, Brody continued. “If I’m to believe everything everyone says about you, you’re a grad student, a food worker for the team, a bartender”—he gestured toward Mrs. Goldberg and Mrs. Benvenuto— “and a water aerobics instructor. Where do you find the time for all of that?”

Lack of time wasn’t her problem, lack of money was, but Shay doubted Brody would ever be able to relate to that. He was financially independent, his future secure while Shay was still trying to claw out from under her family’s fiscal crisis. Not that Brody needed to know her life’s history.

“Some of us are just more industrious than others, I guess.” It was the second time she’d hit him with a stinger and Shay felt a little guilty, but she needed to maintain some distance, some sense of control here because if Brody turned his magic on and kissed her again, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep from throwing herself at him.

He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’m not even sure I know your name.” His soft voice sounded as perplexed as Shay felt.

The words left her body on a breath, almost as if he were pulling them out of her. “Shannon. Shannon Everett. But my friends call me Shay.”

And then he smiled; that slow easy grin she’d been dreaming he’d direct her way. And suddenly Shay couldn’t recollect why she needed to maintain a safe distance at all.

Man, she was a
prickly one. Most women liked when a guy paid for everything, but Shannon—Brody wasn’t sure he was elevated to friend status and could call her Shay—wouldn’t have anything to do with him buying her groceries. Instead, she insisted on tallying up the cost of the items in the basket that were hers—two bananas, three containers of yogurt, and a carton of soy milk—and digging deep into her purse to count out the exact change. The eggs and the brownie mix were apparently on his dime.

Dusk was falling as they left the store. An engine revved in the parking lot and Brody caught sight of the three guys who’d been pestering Shannon earlier. They were sitting in a souped-up Camry two rows away from the entrance, Eminem blaring from the stereo.

“Where’s your car?” Brody asked.

Shannon hesitated at the curb, her eyes drifting to a dilapidated bicycle chained to a pole. Despite the fact he already knew what was coming, Brody swore under his breath in annoyance. If there was one thing he should have learned from all those dopey Disney princess movies his sisters made him watch when he was a kid, rescuing the damsel in distress usually took longer than a five-minute commitment.

“I rode my bike.”

She bent over to unchain the bike, giving him a perfect view of what his hands had been fondling ten minutes ago. Brody stifled a groan. He wouldn’t mind the disruption of his evening if she was as into him as he was to her. But she wasn’t. She’d made that abundantly clear.

“You’re not riding a bike in the dark.” Brody wasn’t sure why he cared anymore, but he did. Somehow she’d become his responsibility and he wasn’t driving away until she was home safely. Even if he did sound like his father right now.

Pulling out a reflective vest from her purse, she turned toward Brody, her eyes and her stance mulish. “You’re not the boss of me.”

In his entire life, Brody had never met a woman who wasn’t susceptible to his charm; one who wouldn’t immediately acquiesce to his wishes. Over the years, he’d watched, amused, as his friends and teammates went “caveman” with their girlfriends and wives in order to get their way, never imagining he’d need to do the same to get a woman to do his bidding.
Until right now.

Grabbing the plastic bag containing their groceries in one hand, he stalked over to where Shannon held her bike, scooped it up by the crossbar, and carried it over to his Range Rover. With a push of a button on his key fob, the liftgate opened. Brody tossed the bike and the groceries into the back. If the eggs ended up cracked, tough. He was done being nice to this woman.

Apparently, Little Miss Texas wasn’t used to being told what to do, because she was protesting loudly, her once-sexy drawl now an annoying twang.

“How dare you! I’m perfectly capable of getting home without being run over. It’s only a five-minute ride.”

“Good,” he said closing the liftgate. “Then it’ll only be
two
minutes by car.”

Brody turned to find her standing inches from him, those whiskey eyes still mulish.
Damn
. He needed to leave her here. To go home, change clothes, and hit some bar where the women would be a lot more accommodating.

“Give me my bike back.”

He actually considered it. It would be so easy. This whole rescuing thing was starting to feel too much like work. But the Camry’s engine revved a second time and those caveman instincts he never knew he had took over once again.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He stepped closer, bringing them nearly nose-to-nose. “Easy way, you get in the car and we’re home in two minutes. Hard way, we have a little instant replay from inside so those three jerks get the hell out of here. What’s it gonna be?”

Surprisingly, he found himself pulling for her to choose the hard way. Despite her lack of response to their earlier kiss, he’d enjoyed it, and he wouldn’t mind a second attempt at coaxing a reaction out of her. Her eyes darted over her shoulder at the frat boys in the Camry. He watched her slowly swallow as she seemed to consider her options. The moment stretched on and Brody’s body began to tense up as the muscles in her graceful neck worked. Just when he thought he’d kiss her anyway, she shook her head and headed toward the passenger side of the Range Rover. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she’d mumbled something sounding like “Hell’s bells” as she slid into the front seat. The Camry squealed out of the parking lot just as Brody climbed in on his side.

As he predicted, the apartment complex she directed him to was barely three minutes’ drive from Santoni’s. Shannon didn’t want him to see where she lived, that much was obvious by the terse directions she gave and the rigid way she held her body. Brody thought her reaction had to do with her desire to get some distance from him, but when he caught a glimpse of the former motel that was supposed to pass for an apartment complex, he realized the stiffness in her chin might be brought on by something more: shame, most likely. He was a little ashamed himself for letting things get this far, but he couldn’t have left her alone in the parking lot. He’d been raised better than that.

The place was neat and clean, but it lacked any of the amenities a woman in her twenties would want. Like security, for starters. He pulled his SUV into one of the parking spaces and killed the engine. “If you’re a graduate student, why don’t you live in the dorm?” Brody realized the question was equal parts absurd and insensitive as soon as the words left his mouth.

Shannon released a little huff as she let herself out of the car. “Dorms cost money.”

Brody was getting a little sick and tired of her maligning him. “Really? And here I thought they were free,” he quipped as he met her at the rear of the Range Rover and opened the liftgate.

“They’re free to athletes and the beautiful people,” she said as she pulled out the bag of groceries, taking a moment to inspect the eggs for damage. “The rest of us poor slobs have to pay. And this place costs less than half of what the university would charge me.”

As he lifted her bike out of the cargo area, Brody contemplated her situation. He’d gone to Notre Dame for free, courtesy of a football scholarship. But there had never been any doubt he wouldn’t go to a top-notch school because his parents could afford to send him. A college education—and all that went with it—was assumed in the Janik household. He knew other students didn’t have it so easy, but Shannon had gotten as far as graduate school, so she’d obviously worked it out.
Work
being the operative word since she had three jobs.

“I’ve got it,” she said, reaching for her bike.

“For Pete’s sake, Shannon! Let me carry this bike to your apartment. When we get there, you can slam the door in my face, as long as you’re safely on the other side of it. Can you just do that for me, huh?”

She stood there in the parking lot, gingerly cradling the bag of eggs and other groceries, studying him quietly. “Okay,” she said finally, with the same breathless voice she’d used to tell him her name.

Brody felt it all the way to his groin.

Turning on her heel, Shannon made her way up the concrete steps to the second floor. As they rounded the corner, a burly man with an unkempt mullet stepped in their path.

“Shay,” the man said. “My mail key’s gone missing again. I need a replacement.”

“I can take care of that, but it’ll be thirty-five dollars to replace, Mr. Metz.”

“Thirty-five bucks!” the guy bellowed.

“It’s the third time I’ve had to ask the landlord to replace it for you. They’re specialty keys and he has to send out for them. He likes to get paid up front to ensure he gets the money.”

Mr. Metz growled something unintelligible, but Shannon held her ground. Brody suspected she’d stand firm against the man who outweighed her by at least a hundred and fifty pounds even if she didn’t have a professional athlete at her back. The guy slunk back into his apartment, slamming the door.

Shannon walked to the end of the balcony, stopping at a locked box mounted to the wall. She jiggled the lock to check if it was secure before pulling out her own key and unlocking her door.

“You’ve gotta be kidding. Don’t tell me you’re the super here, too?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Fine. I won’t tell you.”

Carrying the bike into her apartment, he shook his head in exasperation. Clearly, this woman worked harder than anyone he’d ever met. He glanced around her home. The small living area was furnished with a hodgepodge of secondhand furniture, but somehow she’d made shabby chic work with an eclectic mix of bright pillows and funky accessories. It looked like a room where Brody would love to kick back and relax with friends. Or a sassy Texan.

Emerging from the small kitchenette, Shannon handed him the bag with his sandwich, the brownie mix, and the eggs.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He stood gazing into her eyes like a dumbass, unsure whether to make his escape or beg her to let him stay, those whiskey eyes casting a spell on him yet again.

“Keep the eggs and the brownie mix.” He tried to hand the bag back to her. “You can make yourself some brownies for later.”

She put up her hands to say no, but they were both startled by a small voice coming from a door behind Brody.

“You gonna make brownies, Shay?”

A young, caramel-skinned boy dressed in Redskins pajamas stood in the doorway, his big, puddle-brown eyes wide with excitement. They narrowed quickly when they landed on Brody.

“Hey! We got rules about bringing strange men home, Shay. Remember?”

Brody looked between the boy and Shannon, a twinge of jealousy flashing through his gut as he envisioned her bringing other men home to her kitschy apartment. The jealously was quickly replaced by bewilderment as he wondered what the hell she was doing with a little boy.

 • • • 

“Maddox, you should be
in bed. It’s a school night.” Shay tried to maneuver Brody toward the door, but he stood firmly transfixed, his large body seeming to take up all the air in her tiny apartment. Or maybe it was her nerves sucking the breath out of her. Not two feet from where he stood, the card table that doubled as a dining area and desk was littered with articles on hypoglycemia. She needed to get Sir Galahad out of there before he spied them scattered among her textbooks.

“It’s only seven-forty. I still got twenty more minutes.” At seven years old, Maddox had not only mastered telling time, but the argumentative skills of a top litigator. “Hey, you’re Brody Janik.”

Oh snap
. Shay had hoped to get Brody out of there before anyone recognized him.

Brody gave Maddox a smile; not one of the bone-melting ones he used on women, but his patronizing “aw shucks, I’m a celebrity” grin she’d seen him use on fans.

“That’s me. And you are?”

“I’m Maddox.” The boy tilted his head, studying Brody. “You look a lot tougher on Madden.”

“You’re wearing Redskins pajamas and you’re talking smack?”

Shay pulled Maddox against her body, throwing Brody a warning look over the boy’s head. Brody shrugged his shoulders as if to say,
He started it.

“Is your sister asleep?” she asked.

Maddox nodded, never taking his eyes off Brody. “Mrs. Elder fell asleep watching
Wheel
again, so I gave Anya her bottle.”

“Good boy.” Shay gently rubbed his back. “Now why don’t you go brush your teeth?”

Without another word, Maddox slipped through the adjoining door to the apartment he shared with his mother and baby sister.

“So, do we add nanny to the list?”

Shay rolled her eyes. “Just neighbors helping neighbors.”

“Does his mother often leave him alone to take care of his baby sister like that? Because I’m pretty sure that’s against the law.”

Shay took exception to Brody’s tone. “You know, not everyone lives in the bubble of affluence like you do, Brody. Some of us have to do whatever we can to survive. Jackie is a labor and delivery nurse. It’s part of her job to work nights. Her husband is in Afghanistan and childcare is expensive. We—Mrs. Elder and I—pull together to help out.”

In her exasperation, she’d unwittingly come to stand inches from him again. She could feel the censure and tension radiating off his body. Bafflement shone in his blue eyes, too. And something else. Something she couldn’t quite define.

“You are a conundrum, Shannon Everett.” He spoke softly, but his tone sent shivers through her body. “And I’m fascinated by conundrums.”

Shay sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and Brody’s nostrils flared. Her breath caught as she realized he might kiss her again. Only this time, she wasn’t sure she could keep her own response in check. He leaned toward her, but the slap of Maddox’s bare feet against the parquet floor roused Shay out of her trance and she stepped back.

“I got a Baltimore Blaze poster, Mr. Janik. Will you sign it?” Maddox burst back into her apartment, the poster dragging on the floor behind him.

Obviously the moment hadn’t affected Brody as much as it had her because he had no trouble slipping back into celebrity mode.

“That depends. Are you gonna keep wearing those Redskins PJs?” A teasing glint shone in Brody’s eyes.

“My daddy grew up in Anacostia. That’s in DC,” Maddox said, puffing out his chest with belligerent pride. “We’re Redskins fans first and Blaze fans second.”

Brody rubbed the top of the boy’s head. “Atta boy. Show your pride for your home team. Don’t be that kid who says what he thinks people want to hear.” They both crouched down on the floor, spreading the poster out before them. Brody signed his name and then poised the marker over Shane Devlin’s face. “Should we put some devil horns on him?”

Maddox giggled and Shay found herself smiling with them both. Brody’s effortless boyish charm always had that effect on her. She ached to live the life of carefree exuberance that he did. He lifted his gaze to her, his lazy smile causing her knees to nearly buckle.

“Shay, can I have one of those brownies in my lunchbox tomorrow?” Maddox asked. He looked at Brody, his face earnest. “Shay makes the best brownies.”

Brody rose from his haunches, rolling up the poster, his grin a bit more predatory now. “Does she now?”