Hard Tackle (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) (3 page)

Chapter 3

After breakfast, I wash out my bowl and put it in the
dishwasher. My mom said that there's a housekeeper, but I feel strange leaving
out my dishes for someone else to clean up. I glance toward the backyard, and
down at the ocean beyond. The only thing breaking up the view is Ray's huge
boat, which is tethered to the private dock.

My mom's at the diner, and I assume Ray's at work, so I'm
left to my own devices today. I wander out toward the foyer, figuring I'll give
myself a tour since I focused on unpacking my stuff in my bedroom yesterday. I
start on the first floor, wandering through the high-ceilinged spaces. When I
come to the third sitting room, I begin to wonder what Ray needs this many
rooms for. With Jack usually in his penthouse or on the road, and Alexa away,
I'd find the space lonely all to myself.

I find a door to the basement in the hall between the formal
dining room and a coat check room and head down. The main area is a filled with
games…a ping pong table, billiards, and vintage-looking arcade games. I see a
few doors leading out and head for the nearest one and poke my head into the
dark room. As my eyes adjust, I realize I'm in a small movie theatre, though
the seats are each individual recliners. I shake my head and cross to the other
door, which is heavier than the others. The air in the room feels different,
and I see bottles of wine covering the walls.

I head back into the game room and toward the third door. It
leads down a short hallway into a brightly lit home gym, though it looks just
as well-equipped as the one my mom used to belong to when she was on a health
kick. I spy a white towel draped over a weight machine, and catch the faint
whiff of sweat in the air – Jack's sweat. I shiver involuntarily and head for a
door on the opposite side of the room. It leads up a small stairwell and into
the side of the backyard.

There's a bunch of football equipment spread across the
grass, and a wire basket filled the balls to my left. I feel my stomach clench
and circle around toward the back of the house. I know it's not fair, but I feel
a surge of annoyance at my mom. We've both spent so much time distancing
ourselves from football, and now she's dating the father of one of the biggest
stars in the NFL and forcing me to live in a house with him.

I know that's not fair. I know that her falling for Ray had
nothing to do with Jack, but I can't help but think that Freud would have a
field day with the situation. I take a deep breath and will the anger out of my
body. It's toxic, and it won't help anything.

I open the door nearest to me on the ground floor and walk
inside. I stop short, realizing I'm in a room that I must have missed on my
first tour of the ground floor. There's a huge oak desk to my right, and a
seating area to my left. This must be Ray's home office. I walk around the desk
and look over the photos he has displayed. There are only two, and they're the
only personal items in the room.

One shows a photo of Jack with his
helmet raised over his head, his face covered in sweat, and the other is a
photo of Ray with Jack and a young woman. By her age, she must be Alexa, Jack's
sister. I lean closer to study her face. She's strikingly beautiful. Tall, like
Jack and Ray, but with dark brown hair that flows over her shoulders. The phone
on the desk trills a harsh ring, and I jump back, startled. I reach toward it,
unsure if I should answer.

"He doesn't like anyone in
here," says a voice from the doorway to the backyard. I squint as Jack
strides out of the sunlight to the desk and picks up the handset. "It's
OK," he says immediately, as though he knows who's calling, and what
they're calling about. "It's just Bree, she wandered in. Yup," he
says, and hangs up. "My dad doesn't like anyone to come in here," he
says and gestures toward the door. I walk out, feeling indignantly like I'm being
chastised.

"I was just taking a tour of
the house," I explain. "And how did he even know I was in there,
anyway?"

Jack nods toward a black box on the
doorframe as just before he shuts the door. "Those are motion detectors.
They're all over the house, but he has them set up here so that he knows
personally if anyone goes into his office."

"Yikes," I murmur.
Talk
about a control freak.

"He deals with large amounts
of money," Jack says with an easy shrug as we walk back across the patio
to the kitchen doors.

"What did your mom look
like?"

"Why?" he asks, stopping
to frown at me.

"Oh, well, I just noticed that
your dad doesn't have any pictures of her, and I was wondering if she had brown
hair like Alexa."

"Alexa takes after my dad. His
hair was brown before he went gray," he explains shortly.

"I didn't mean to pry."

"I guess we both have parents
we don't like to talk about," he says with a wry smile. "Is that why
you go by Driscoll?"

I nod. "It's my mom's maiden
name. It wouldn’t confuse someone who was really determined to look up Steven
Riley's wife and kids, but it helps."

"I used to have his
card," Jack confesses with a smile.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was so excited when I
found it in the pack. He was great, in his day."

"Not that that's what anyone
remembers," I reply. "Nor should they," I add. "Where's
your bedroom?" I ask, wanting to change the subject.

"Why do you want to
know?" he asks, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"Just asking," I stress.
"Like I said, I was looking around."

"Third floor," he says, pointing
to the top of the house. "Right in the middle. You swim?"

"Sure."

"Been in the pool yet?"

I look up at him and notice an evil
glint in his eyes. "Jack…" I say warningly.

But it's too late. He reaches out
quick as lightning and grabs me around the waist, then flips me into the pool.
I close my mouth just before I hit the surface of the water and sink under. I
kick back up to the surface and slap my palms on the water angrily.

"Ugh, how old are you?" I
snap, pushing my hair out of my face.

"Hey, at least it's heated.
That's for your little blackmail threat earlier," he adds with a smile.

I grumble to myself and swim to the
side of the pool and extend my arm out demandingly. He takes it and begins to
pull me out, but I swing my legs up against the side and extend them out
suddenly. He's huge, but I've taken him by surprise. He tumbles over my head
and into the water with a splash.

I grab hold of the edge and watch
as he surfaces, spluttering. "Oldest trick in the book, Jack. You better
up your game."

Chapter Four

I tap my foot on the marble floor as I wait for my mom in
the foyer. What is taking her so long? She's the one who's making me get a dumb
dress for the party and now she can't tear herself away from the caterers.

"Mom?" I call toward the kitchen impatiently,
though who knows if she can even hear me from this distance. This big house is
dumb. This party is dumb. Everything's dumb. I hear her shoes clicking on the
floor, headed toward me. Finally, I walk toward the door, expecting her to be right
behind me.

"Sorry, hon," she says. I turn back around and
frown. She's not carrying her purse. "There's this issue with the dance
floor…I don't think I'm going to be able to get away right now."

"So I don't have to go shopping?" I ask hopefully.

"No, you still need something to wear tonight. It's
black tie. I knew I shouldn't have let you keep postponing it. Just go, and
find something that looks—" she stops as she sees my expression. She knows
I never have any idea about fashion. Jack leaps down the southern set of
stairs, surprisingly nimble for his size, and breezes past us.

"Bye!" he says, opening the door.

"Where are you off to?" my mom asks. Jack stops,
clearly surprised to have someone asking him this question.

"Gotta go pick up my tux," he explains.

"Oh! Where?" my mom asks.

"Um, Gucci…" he replies, looking puzzled.

"Perfect! Take Bree. She needs a dress for
tonight," she instructs him.

"But—" he protests.

"You and your father always look like you stepped out
of GQ so don't even tell me you don't know how to help. See you two
later!" she replies firmly, and walks quickly back toward the kitchen.

"Let's go," I sigh, knowing the conversation is
closed.

"She…she's…" Jack mutters as he shuts the front
door behind us.

"She's run a restaurant for the last ten years by
herself. She has a way of getting things done."

"She reminds me of my coach," he says, and I'm not
sure by his tone if he means it as a good or bad thing. I clamber up into his
Escalade as he eases himself in, his seat pushed way back from the wheel to
accommodate his size. 

"Nothing too frilly," I tell him as he begins
around the circular drive.

"Frilly? It's Gucci," he replies like I've just
said something incomprehensible.

"So?" I can see him trying not to smile.
"What?"

"Sorry, it's just…I've never met a woman who cared less
about what she looks like."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

He laughs. "Yes, though I can hear how it
sounded." He takes his eyes off the road to shoot me a quick glance.
"I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you wearing something that wasn't
stained. Except maybe your diner uniform."

"I've just never been very girly," I say with a
shrug. "We could never really afford new clothes much, and everything
would just get dirty or torn eventually anyway."

"Couldn't afford—so your dad really—"

"Yup, it's really all gone," I answer shortly.

"Sorry—that was insensitive of me." I steal a look
at him out of the corner of my eye. That sounded sincere, like an actual bit of
self-awareness. We ride the rest of the way to the mall and pull into the
parking lot. I peer out at it. This is the fancy mall, the one I've never been
to, though I think the popular kids used to hang out here.

"Do you always run your own errands? I thought people
like you had assistants."

"People like me? Well, I used to, but I found out she
was selling my underwear on EBay. Just haven't bothered to find someone else
since then," he states matter-of-factly.

I stare at him, astonished "Clean or dirty?"

He guffaws. "That was my first question, too. And the
answer was both, but dirty cost more."

"Wow." I lean back as Jack turns to reach behind
his seat, then sits back and pulls a black baseball cap low over his eyes. I
smile. "Does that really help anything? How tall are you?"

"Six foot five," he replies with a proud smirk.
"But you never know. With this many people around, I don't want to cause
too much of a scene. We'll never be able to leave." We hop out of the car,
and as we walk through the parking lot he begins to speed up. By the time we
reach the mall's glass doors he's walking so fast and his legs are so long that
I'm struggling to keep up. He keeps his chin tucked to his chest, zooming
forward like he knows exactly where to go. I see heads turning as we pass, but
no one has time to process what they're seeing. Before I know it, he's pulling
me through a sleek black storefront and letting the glass door shut behind us.

"Hey, man," he greets the Gucci associate behind
the counter. "Is Lydia here?" he asks as he plops himself down in a
velvet armchair with its back to the door, now completely relaxed. I blink,
still getting used to our surroundings and the breakneck speed with which we
reached them. I glance around. The lighting is soft and warm, gleaming from
unseen bulbs hidden behind mirrored shelves.

"Is that Jack?" a well-heeled woman in her forties
asks as she emerges from behind a black curtain. "Roberto's ready for you.
He tells me your measurements have gotten even bigger."

"New trainer. And Lydia, this is Bree."

"Of course," Lydia replies with a knowing smile.

"No, she's not…she's my…" Jack tries to explain.

"His dad's girlfriend's daughter," I clarify.
"How many girls have you brought here, exactly?" I ask him as he
stands.

"Well, I couldn't give you an exact number," he
says with a smile.

"Jack, you know where to go," Lydia says, nodding
toward the black curtain.

"Have fun," he tells me teasingly as he
disappears.

"So, Bree, what are you looking for today?" Lydia
asks me, placing an arm around the small of my back as she sweeps me toward the
back of the store. For the first time I can see kindness in her kohl-rimmed
eyes, and feel myself relax.

"Black tie, my mom says."

"OK, wonderful," she says, glancing over me.
"Would you mind if I just…" she gently places her hands around my
hips, then pulls my baggy shirt back so she can see my waist. "You look
like you'll wear a sample size, and then the only tailoring you would need is
to take up the hem, which we can do quickly. Why don't I take you back to the
dressing room, and I'll pick out some options to bring to you?"

I nod. I'm happy to have her choose. She brings me through
the black curtain and into another cordoned-off section. The velvet drapes
swing silently shut behind her as I stand awkwardly in the middle of the
dressing room. I can just hear the hum of Jack's voice as the tailor and he
discuss the fit of his tux.

I kick my old sneakers off into the corner and then pull my
shirt off over my head and my pants down to the floor. I study myself in the
three floor-to-ceiling mirrors across from me. The lighting is soft, at least.
My fingers slide over the sports bra I'm wearing. Maybe not the best underwear
for shopping for a gown. I jump as Lydia's face appears over my shoulder.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you. What do you think of
this?" she asks, placing a midnight blue dress over the hook on the wall.

"Um, it's beautiful," I murmur. And it really is.

"Satin, and all this beading is done by hand," she
says, indicating the gold sunburst that extends from the waist along the halter
neckline.

"It's sort of low-cut, though, huh?" I ask,
picking at up to look at the back. There isn't one.

"Yes, but it's perfect for someone who's more petite
like you," she assures me, turning her back. "You can't wear a bra
with it."

"Ah," I say, taking the hint and pulling my bra
off over my head. "Um, OK," I tell her, lamely covering my nipples
with my hands.

"I've seen it all, and then some," she tells me
with a smile as she picks the dress off the padded hanger and unzips it on the
side. She bends down, and the satin pools on the pale carpet. I gingerly step
inside the circle of fabric, and she pulls it up. I duck my head under the
halter strap and feel her fingers brush my sides as she zips it up. "Wait,
don't look yet," she says with a grin, taking a pair of heels from the
side of the dressing room and laying them on the floor in front of me.
"These are just so you get an idea of the height," she explains. I
nod, slipping them on. They're a little big and I can feel my heel wiggling in
the back. "OK, turn around."

"Woah," I breathe as I glimpse the woman in the
mirror. Me, I'm in the mirror. Lydia claps her hands together.

"This cut is just perfect on you, I knew it," she
says, indicating the deep v in the front that cuts below my sternum, leaving
just a hint of the sides of my breasts exposed. I turn so I can see the back,
where the fabric mirrors the front, dipping into a corresponding shape below my
ribcage.

"Do I look…does it look alright?" I ask worriedly.

"You look gorgeous," she purrs. "This is the one."

"Um, OK. Yeah, alright," I stammer. Any shopping
trip where I don't have to try on more than one item of clothing is a success
in my book.

"Let me just get some measurements," she says,
pulling a tape measure out of her pocket. I run my fingers over the gold
beading as she mutters to herself, pulling out the bottom of the dress, and
then picking my foot up from the shoe and measuring that as well. "Let me
help you out of it," she finally says, unzipping the side and pulling the
halter over my head. "Roberto will do the hemming, and I'll find the shoes
in the right size, and we'll deliver them to…are you living at the same address
as Jack?"

"Yes, I forget the number, though," I murmur,
hands over my exposed chest again.

"We have all of his information on file," she
tells me, letting the drape close behind her as she leaves. I nod, though she's
already gone.

I turn back toward the mirror, then let my hands drop.
Normally I rush through my bathroom routine, barely looking at myself. But this
lighting is very flattering…I turn from side to side, studying the small curve
of my waist, and my high, small breasts. I lay my hand on my stomach and
imagine it belongs to someone else…

"Lydia?"

I screech as Jack's face appears in the mirror, poking
through the drapes behind me. "Jack! What the fuck!" I yell as his
face registers shock and then quickly disappears.

"Sorry!" he calls out from the other side. I jump
for my sports bra and yank it on. "I was just going to say that—"

"Forget it!" I call back furiously as I pull my
clothes back on. I stuff my shoes back into my sneakers and push the drape
aside, storming out past him. I can feel how red my face is.

He follows me out into the store, pausing only momentarily
to pull his baseball cap back on. Now he's the one trailing me as I walk
quickly back out through the mall and into the parking lot. I walk right up to
the passenger side door of his car and wait for him to unlock it, my cheeks
still burning.

"Will you just hang on a second?" he asks,
cornering me against the locked door.

"Let's just pretend it never happened."

"OK. I am sorry," he says, turning away. He pauses
for a moment. "Not that you have anything to be embarrassed about,"
he adds, then walks quickly toward the driver's side door.

I frown. What does that mean? Was
that a compliment? Or was he just trying to make my feel better? I hear the
doors unlock and leap inside, looking straight ahead. We ride back to the house
in awkward silence.