Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (16 page)

All week the local and national media took
turns battering him with negativity and building him back up again.
He’d been the subject of several news articles in the last couple
days leading up to the playoff game, everything from flattering to
downright insulting. He’d heard it all.

Yet, he had a few media guys in his
corner.

The Jacks’ Cinderella story is ready to
become the next greatest show on turf.

Tyler Harris tutors the Jacks’ backup, has
utmost faith in his replacement quarterback.

The tweets were the worst, and he quit
reading them. People could be brutal, and Brett didn’t need his
brain riddled with self-doubt crap, not when he was determined to
hold tight to his newly found confidence.

Fuck all the doubters. He’d prove everyone
wrong and get a big fat contract as a starter somewhere else at the
end of the season because everyone knew the Jacks were still
Harris’s team.

Leaving the apartment before six this
morning, he’d spent all day at Jacks headquarters, dragging himself
in the door just before four thirty. Tonight was not about
football. Tonight was about working with Estie to benefit their
mutual passion—animals. Tonight was Yappy Hour and a well-deserved
evening away from football.

Tomorrow morning he’d get back at it as far
as studying game film, working with his receivers to get his timing
down, and trying to absorb everything Harris told him. Prick or
not, Harris knew football, especially the quarterback position.

Wearily, Brett lathered up his tired body.
Living below Estie didn’t help his sleeplessness, even though he
hadn’t actually seen her since he moved in. With the hours he kept,
he left before she got up and came home usually after she’d gone to
bed. She took care of his animals, but by the time he came home at
night, she had them tucked safely into their beds in his basement
apartment. Obviously, she didn’t want him coming upstairs to get
them every evening.

Some nights he could hear her walking around
upstairs. He knew she liked to play Michael Bublé in the evenings
and slept in the room directly above the one he slept in. Even
worse, her bed squeaked.

He’d be sleeping on his couch if Michaels
spent the night with her.

God, the thought of Estie groaning and
panting as a guy pumped into her made him as hard as a rock, as
long as he was that guy. Any other guy and he imagined strangling
them with his bare hands. And these hands could do it, not that he
advertised those particular talents.

Brett heard Estie turn on her water and knew
she was most likely taking her own shower. He closed his eyes.
Images of a naked Estie slammed into him. Water ran down her body,
across her breasts, beading on her erect nipples—tight, pink
nipples hardened into little nubs just perfect for rolling around
between his thumb and forefinger. In his fantasy, she knelt in
front of him and sucked his dick between her plump red lips.

Brett wrapped his hand around the base of
his cock and squeezed, pumping up and down, imaging it was Estie’s
mouth and not his hand, which was a piss-poor imitation.

In his imagination, she took him deeper, and
her sky blue eyes gazed up at him the entire time. He buried his
fingers in that thick silky hair and gently guided her mouth
downward until his dick was fully buried.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

Brett pumped harder until his body shuddered
its release. He sagged against the shower wall. His knees buckled,
and he slid down the tile to sit on the floor. He shut his eyes and
let the water run over his body until he’d emptied the hot water
tank and the water went from lukewarm to damned cold.

On not-too-steady legs, Brett stepped out of
the shower and toweled off. Estie’s footsteps echoed above him, and
he heard her sweet voice crooning a popular love song.

He threw himself face first on his bed and
fisted his hands in the comforter.

He had it bad. Really fucking bad.

* * * * *

Estie was crazy, batshit crazy. Only an
insane woman would step into the shower at the same time as she
heard the water running in the pipes of the apartment below. The
man she lusted over was in his shower just one floor below her.
Naked. As soon as the warm water hit her, she imagined his long
fingers running over her body, touching her nipples, sliding down
her hips to cup her ass. His mouth traced its own path across her
wet shoulders, and she groaned when one of those hands found the
sweetest spot of all between her legs.

Only it wasn’t Brett’s hands but her own, a
poor substitution, but it would have to do. She slid a finger
inside followed by another and worked them in deep, followed by a
vigorous in and out motion. Rubbing her clit, she leaned against
the shower. With her free hand she pinched and tweaked her
nipples.

It didn’t take long before Estie came in a
bigger rush than she ever had with he-who-would-not-be-named, aka
King of Douches. Her hands and her vivid imagination did all the
work. She couldn’t fathom what the real Brett Gunnels might be
like.

God, she’d give a year of her life for just
one night with Brett. Just one decadent, no-rules, no-guilt sex.
Just one.

Only she was a mess right now and had to get
her life in order. She’d told Tyler and Freddie everything. Tyler
swore he’d beat the living crap out of Richard, and Freddie
promised to help. Only Estie’s threat of death by slow poison
prevented them from enacting their revenge. Ty assured her she
would continue to handle his finances since he could fucking hire
anyone he wanted, and Richard the Prick couldn’t—and wouldn’t—do a
damn thing about it. He’d already said so. Estie sent Freddie to
move stuff out of her office, wishing she could’ve been a fly on
that wall. Freddie didn’t end up in handcuffs, so at least she
didn’t do any bodily harm to the man.

Estie had trusted a man she’d known since
college and made excuses when things didn’t add up. Now she paid
with a serious blow to her confidence and a lack of trust in anyone
but family. The life she’d planned for herself since she’d been a
teenager didn’t exist any longer, leaving her with serious doubt
and no direction. Estie without direction was a damn scary
thing.

Enough of this internal beating up. She’d
devise a new plan, an exciting new future, one that didn’t include
any kind of partnership or dependence on a man.

Brett was a friend. That’s all he could be—a
friend, a good friend, a nice guy with some secrets and dark
shadows. She didn’t need another man with secrets, nor did she need
to jump from the frying pan into the proverbial bonfire.

Besides, Brett didn’t need a controlling
woman like her, despite their mutual love for animals. He needed a
nice, sweet woman who’d settle down with him and give him a couple
kids, living happily ever after in a suburban development. That was
so
not her.

Today was Yappy Hour, and she’d be spending
it with Brett, facing even more temptations.

After drying her hair and composing herself,
Estie walked down the deck stairs and rapped on Brett’s door. He
opened it wearing his Jacks jersey, a zip-up Jacks hoodie, faded
jeans that clung to his lean, muscular thighs, and a pair of
conspicuously new cowboy boots.

His lopsided smile made her forget all her
problems, while his blue eyes stripped her down to her basic
essence, and his expression gentled the same way it did when he
tried to calm a frightened Risky.

Estie managed her own weak smile, as weak as
her knees and as tremulous as her lovesick heart.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice powering
through her offensive line, taking the same path as his smile and
sacking her heart for a huge loss—or would that be a gain?

“Hey, cowboy, looks like you’re ready to do
some bronc busting.” She liked the boots. They made him an inch or
two taller than her.

“I hope not. I need to keep my body
intact.”

“And Tyler would kill me if you damaged your
throwing arm.” She winked at him. “Someday, I’ll teach you to ride,
and you can break in those boots with some good old dust and horse
manure.” Yeah, right, just what she needed was to spend even more
time with him.

Brett laughed. “I’d love to learn to ride.
Someday.”

Estie opened her mouth to promise him a
lesson soon but thought better of it. His face fell, as if he
realized like she did that “someday” would never happen.

Before things could get any more awkward she
said, “Well, I’m ready to play puppy matchmaker. How about
you?”

“Absolutely.” Brett smiled again. He smiled
more than he used to, despite the pressure put on him as the team
starter. She wondered if she’d put that smile on his face, and if
she’d be the one to erase it.

Yappy Hour was wild. Estie ran around like
crazy, organizing the workers, making sure the participants had the
info they needed, and trying not to fixate on Brett, who sat at a
table and signed autograph after autograph. She spotted a few
Number Ten jerseys in the crowd, something that wouldn’t have
happened before last week’s win.

People crowded around the portable bars
setup in the four corners of the room or stood at the high, round
tables sipping drinks while discussing the various dogs listed in
the Dogalog—Sylvia’s creation to compile pictures and bios of each
adoptable dog. Her friend circulated among the guests, sizing them
up, and suggesting possible doggy matches for them. Little dogs
yapped from their locations in their crates, while the larger dogs
woofed and strained on leashes. Meanwhile, several people
participated in the doggy speed dating, spending three minutes with
each dog before moving to the next excited canine. It was chaos,
barely controlled chaos, and Estie was in her element, loving every
minute of it. Even the quiet Brett seemed to be enjoying
himself.

Suddenly—not that she was watching—Brett’s
head jerked up, and he shot to his feet, deserting his post and
leaving bevy of autograph seekers standing in line with puzzled
expressions on their faces. Estie frowned and made a beeline for
him, wondering what the hell just happened. Had someone insulted
him, or pissed him off, or did the crowds finally get to him? She
didn’t know much about his military experiences and even less about
PTSD or if Brett suffered from it, but she knew enough to know that
the sheer noise and number of people might have been a contributing
factor to him escaping from the din of barking dogs and loud
people.

Estie paused long enough to assure the fans
that they’d have further opportunities to get a signature before
the night ended.

As she rounded the corner, she saw what
attracted Brett’s attention. A young woman pushed a wheelchair
containing a twenty-something man into the banquet room. The man
wore an Army baseball cap, and both his legs were missing below his
knees. Brett stopped in front of him as Estie halted a few feet
away.

Brett bent down, studying the man intently.
“Thank you for your service.” Brett smiled one of those rare smiles
she cherished.

“Thank you for yours. I’m Mike Wilcox.” Mike
smiled and held out his hand.

“Great to meet you, Mike.” Brett shook his
hand and nodded at the man’s companion.

“And this is my wife, Dulcie.”

“Great to meet you both.” Brett smiled at
her.

The wife spoke next, as she looked over
Brett’s shoulder into the chaos beyond. “We’re looking for a dog
for Mike. One that might be a companion while I’m at work during
the day.”

“I know just the dog. Follow me.” Brett
walked slowly across the room as Mike wheeled beside him, leading
them to a Golden Retriever named Goldie. Her name might not be much
on originality, but Goldie was a sweetheart of the first degree. In
fact, Estie had fallen in love with the dog at first sight and
already determined if she didn’t find the right home tonight, she’d
take her back to her place.

The two-year-old dog had no vices and had
been abandoned by a family who had to move into an apartment when
they lost their house. Instead of finding her a good home, they’d
left her to run loose on busy street until a Good Samaritan rescued
her before she got hit.

Goldie headed straight for Mike and sat at
his feet. Her tail thumped on the carpeted floor as she stared at
him with adoring eyes. She’d picked her human; it was love at first
sight for both of them. Mike bent forward to whisper in her ear and
her tail thumped harder. He hugged her, and she slurped his face.
Mike laughed when she leaned into him with a happy sigh.

Estie slid closer and whispered to Brett.
“This is the happiest I’ve seen Goldie since we took her into the
shelter. She’s done nothing but mope around.”

Dulcie, sporting a huge smile, looked up,
and nodded. “Same with Mike. It’s a match made in heaven.”

“That it is,” Brett agreed, snaking his arm
around Estie’s waist in what appeared to be a purely spontaneous
gesture. Estie looked at him, their faces so close—only a few
inches more and their lips would touch. She forgot they were in a
room full of people or that she’d just broken her engagement and
sworn off men. All she knew was that Brett’s arm was around her,
and his body warmth seeped into her, heating up every cell in her
body. She gazed into those pale blue eyes, and he gazed back like
man with a mission, and that mission was her.

Estie liked being his mission.

As if realizing his arm was around her,
Brett dropped his arm and stepped away, looking flustered and
embarrassed.

The happy couple and happier dog didn’t even
seem to notice the sparks arcing between Estie and Brett.

Estie swallowed and beat back the
butterflies careening around in her stomach. “I’d better get back
to the speed dating.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I’d better get back to
signing.”