Backfield in Motion (12 page)

“That’s a shame. A nice guy like him.”
Inside, her heart sank to her toes. She should be excited about the
opportunity to date Brett. Her crush on Bruiser had gotten worse
and Brett might be just what she needed to squash her ridiculous
fantasy—nice, good-looking guy and all. Any woman would be thrilled
to date him.

“So, what do you think?”

“I’d love to.” She smiled widely even though
it pained her to do so.

A date. Her first in a few years.

Only with the wrong man.

* * * * *

After the game, the two couples went to a
trendy waterfront restaurant. Bruiser’s attempts to enjoy the
evening crashed and burned in a mushroom cloud of smoke and debris.
Holly, his date of the evening, kept yawning and casting glares
around the table while rubbing Bruiser’s thigh. Any other time,
he’d be sporting a large boner, but tonight he couldn’t get beyond
several misaligned thoughts banging in his head.

Mac looked damn good—not fake, model good,
but real, genuine female good. Like a woman a man could get dirty
with and love every minute. A woman who wouldn’t empty his bank
account buying shoes but would actually fight him over who mowed
the lawn. Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders in golden
waves. He wanted to bury his fingers in that thick mane while he
lost himself deep inside her.

Fuck.

She tilted her head in the cutest damn way
and smiled at Brett, while his buddy grinned back at her, looking
happier than Bruiser had ever seen him. That made Bruiser feel like
an even bigger bastard for coveting Mac and envying Brett.

The happy couple put their heads together,
giggling like school kids. Hell, they’d been doing that all night.
Bruiser couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their secrecy
pissed him off until he couldn’t see beyond the red haze in front
of his eyes.

Not being the center of Bruiser’s attention,
Holly stuck out her Botoxed lower lip and pouted. Bruiser forced a
smile in her direction. She glared back at him. Funny how the woman
didn’t look the least bit attractive with a scowl on her face. Pure
bitch, even though attitude had never bothered him before. After
all, who cared about personality when a woman was hot in and out of
bed? Only right now, like an idiot, he was caring.

“Let’s go, Bruiser. I’m bored.” Holly tugged
on his arm.

Bruiser didn’t even glance at her. “I’ll
call you a cab.” Okay, now he
was
being an inattentive, rude
bastard, Sometimes he didn’t like himself very much. He hated
superficial people, yet he was the most superficial person he knew.
Or at least he walked the walk.

“Fine.” Now his date slipped into full-assed
pout, and there was no reclaiming the evening. She got up in a huff
and stomped off. Bruiser trotted after her, full of hollow
apologies.

They waited in silence for her cab. He paid
the cabbie then leaned in to where she sat in the backseat. “I’ll
call you.”

“Don’t bother, you fuckhead. Obviously,
you’ve lost your eyesight, but I haven’t. I can’t believe you’d
prefer someone like
that
over me.”

Bruiser opened his mouth to rip her a new
one and defend Mac, then shut it. Shit, was it that obvious? He
needed to get a grip. “Well then, goodbye.” He watched the cab
drive off into the night.

Good riddance.

He really was a shallow asshole.

Head down, Bruiser slipped back into the
restaurant. Mac and Brett looked in his direction as if they’d just
noticed he’d left, which made him feel even more miserable. He
should be happy for Mac and for his buddy, but he wasn’t, not one
damn, selfish bit.

“Where’d you go?” Brett looked beyond him.
“Where’s Holly?”

“Not feeling well. I got her a cab home.”
Bruiser slid into the booth across from them.

“Oh.” Brett and Mac exchanged glances like
two co-conspirators.

The silence settled over them, and Bruiser
squirmed. He was the odd man out. With a grim smile, he stood. “I
guess I’ll be going, too.”

They both nodded. No arguments from either
one of them.

Bruiser threw a hundred on the table to
cover dinner and drinks, nodded at his two friends, and left,
skulking out the door like a hound with his tail between his
legs.

He jumped in his car and screamed out of the
parking garage, hopping onto I-5, then I-90, across Lake Washington
to his townhouse. Minutes later, he sat on his deck and stared out
across the water, sipping on a beer.

His cell rang, and he grabbed for it,
half-expecting it to be Mac or Brett. Maybe they’d gotten in a
fight, and Mac needed a ride home. He jabbed the Answer button with
his thumb, ignoring the caller ID. “Yeah?”

“Well, if it isn’t my absentee son.”

Bruiser cringed. “Uh, hi, Mom.”

“Oh, so you do remember that you have a
mother.”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t quite know what else
to say. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“With the sweet little blonde we prettied up
a few weeks ago?” His mother sounded hopeful, way too hopeful.
Depending on his next words, she’d be picking out silverware
patterns, a china set, and knitting pink and purple baby booties—if
she had a clue how to knit.

“No, she’s, uh, seeing someone else.” Or she
would be after tonight, thanks to him. The thought of Mac naked and
sweaty in bed with Brett tied his stomach in bigger knots than his
first play on Monday Night Football as a rookie.

“What’d you do to screw it up this time,
Bruce?”

“I didn’t do anything. We’re just friends,
that’s all.”

“Humph. It’s time you settled down with some
nice girl like her, not all these plastic bitches you date.” His
mother’s disappointment came through the cellular airspace loud and
clear, but he couldn’t make her happy any more than he had his
father. Well, at least not for long, though she’d certainly loved
it when he’d bought her and Shanna that beauty salon, setting them
up across Puget Sound from Seattle. Unfortunately, an hour’s ferry
ride hadn’t been far enough away. At least they didn’t insist on
attending his games.

“I’m never settling down, not ever. I don’t
need marriage, and I sure as hell don’t want kids.”

“You’re being stubborn just to piss off an
old woman.”

“You’re hardly old. And I’m not doing it to
piss you off. But you haven’t exactly given me a reason to see
marriage in a good light.”

“Well.” She huffed. He pictured her crossing
her arms over her ample chest and glaring at the phone. “I hardly
think that’s necessary. What’s happened to you, Bruce? Fame has
gone to your head.”

“Yeah, Mom, it sure has.” His fame and
obsession with earning money was what kept her and Shanna in hair
dye and fingernail polish and allowed them to work only three days
a week.

“I want you to come to dinner on
Sunday.”

“I can’t, I have to—” He hesitated,
searching for an excuse.

His mother jumped on his hesitation before
he could get another word in. “Two o’clock sharp. And I’ve invited
Mackenzie, too, so you might as well offer her a ride like a
gentleman.”

“But, Mom.”

No one was on the other end to hear his
protests.

Chapter 9

Once Bruiser left, Mac and Brett’s easy
banter became stilted. With chaperones present, she’d talked with
Brett like a co-conspirator, a brother-in-arms. Once alone, her
tongue climbed to the roof of her mouth and refused to come down.
Her brain sputtered to a stop and their fun night ground to a
screeching halt. Nothing like the night she’d been with
Bruiser.

Finally, the two of them left the
restaurant.

Brett drove Mac home and got out of the car
and walked her to her door. Mac tried to see the place through his
eyes, with its wisteria arbor over the picket-fence gate, cute
little red shutters, and a welcoming porch with hanging baskets of
healthy, happy flowers, courtesy of her green thumb.

“I love your place. It’s really homey.” He
smiled nervously, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Thank you.” She managed a half-smile.

Brett stared at her. His intent expression
telegraphed his desire to take this relationship to the next level.
Turning her back on Brett, Mac fumbled with the key in the lock.
Finally, she managed to unlock the door and push it open. Brett’s
hands gently gripped her shoulders, and he turned her around to
face him. His pale blue eyes shone with hope and uncertainty, and
her heart went out to him.

“I had a good time tonight.” He smiled at
her, a nice-guy smile, not a naughty-boy smile like Bruiser’s.

“So did I.” She did have a good time, sorta,
but not in the way Brett intended. She liked Brett. Once he came
out of his shell he had a quick, wry humor and sharp intellect
which she found fun but not exactly exciting.

He tilted his head, lowering it toward her
face. His gaze settled on her lips. Mac backed up across the
threshold. “I’m really tired, Brett.”

His face fell, the corners of his mouth
tipped down, and his arms dropped to his sides. She was the worst
kind of bitch for rejecting his kiss, but she’d be a bigger bitch
if she led him on. The chemistry just wasn’t there.

Why was the heart so fickle? Well, maybe not
the heart; it might actually be lower than that. Whatever it was,
though her head insisted Brett would be an excellent catch, her
body wasn’t in the game. In fact, it’d gone back to the locker room
and was taking a cold shower.

“Okay, well, good night then.” He shuffled
backward a few steps.

“Brett, you’re a great guy.”

“Would you like to do something again?” He
perked up slightly.

“Uh, sure.” Now why the hell did she say yes
when she didn’t see this going anywhere? Because she was a sucker
for a sad smile, and Brett had the saddest smile she’d ever
seen.

“Great. I’ll call you.”

“Sounds good.” Mac shut the door and leaned
against it, hating herself for wanting Bruiser and giving Brett
false hope. She rubbed her hands over her face, weary and tired yet
wide awake.

She wanted a life. A normal life. Mac never
stood up for herself and her needs and wants. She’d spent three
years living in the past, hunting for answers she might never get.
What if she went missing tomorrow? Could she say she’d lived her
life to the fullest like Will had?

Would Will applaud her choices or chastise
her for not following her dreams?

The answer to that question hit way too
close to the heart of the matter.

* * * * *

Bruiser dreaded his mother’s dinners. Not
only was Eunice a barely passable cook, but his sister craved drama
more than a reality show producer. Add to that an hour ferry ride
both ways alone in a car with Mac, and it was a recipe for pure
torture.

He needed to make something happen before
training camp because images of Mac really fucked with his sleep.
Running it off every morning and evening didn’t help either. If
anything, the exercise honed his edge instead of filing it down.
Pulling into Mac’s driveway, he hadn’t even put his SUV in park
when Mac bounded out the door, blonde hair streaming behind her and
a purse slung over her shoulder. She was settled in the seat before
he could get out to open the car door for her. God, she looked like
heaven with a heavy dose of sin on top.

“Thanks for giving me a ride.” She smiled at
him, one of those pure heart-warming smiles. He found himself
smiling back. She’d turned him into a sorry-assed sap eager for any
crumb of her attention.

“It’d be pointless for both of us to drive.”
Bruiser took in her little top and skirt, along with the makeup.
She looked damn cute. Sexy as hell.

“My, aren’t we grumpy this afternoon. What’s
got your boxers in a wad?”

“I’m always like this when I’m about to
visit my family.” Which was the truth.

“I like your family. They’re a hoot.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because they aren’t
related to you.” Bruiser headed for downtown Seattle across the
floating bridge.

“What’s your problem with them?” Talk about
getting to the point. He liked and hated that about Mac.

“They’re just pains in my ass. They bitch at
me all the time, try to control me, make demands of me.”

“Are you the baby?”

“Yeah, what was your first clue? Other than
they treat me like one.” Except when they wanted his money.
“Sometimes I wish they’d just go away and leave me alone.”

“Don’t ever say that. You never know when
you won’t have them around anymore.” Mac swallowed and made this
little hiccupping sound. Bruiser felt like a shit because he was
one.

“Hey, that was an asshole thing for me to
say, and I’m sorry. I don’t want them to go away; I just want them
to lay off.”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to walk on
eggshells around me regarding that subject. It is what it is.”

Bruiser looked over at her and felt helpless
at the pain on her face. He reached over and took her hand. “Then
tell me. I’d like to hear. Maybe a pair of fresh eyes and ears
would help.”

As they drove she told him the whole story,
about her brother and how he left work one Friday afternoon and was
never seen again, and about her father, who seemed to lose his grip
with reality a little more each day. The pain in her voice went
right through his heart like a javelin. Finally, her voice trailed
off and she looked at him with such a sad expression he just wanted
to hold her and tell her it would be all right. But he knew it
wouldn’t, just like it would never be okay with Brice.

He cleared his throat. “If I can do anything
just say the word. I don’t have any experience with detective work,
but I’m tenacious and stubborn.”

Bruiser didn’t let go of her hand, and she
didn’t pull away. He liked her hand in his, even if it wasn’t as
soft and smooth as most women’s hands.