Scoring With Santa: Book One in the Second Chance Series

by Theresa Roemer

  She guessed at his question. “Yes, Sam’s starting the Houston High football clinic this weekend. He’s really excited.”

  Her dad’s face relaxed and he smiled again and nodded his head, leaning back into the chair.

  “You want the television on, George?” her mom asked, ever solicitous.

  He looked at Brandy and raised his eyebrows.

  “No, I’m not staying. I just stopped by to bring ya’ll some dinner before I pick up the kids.” She leaned down and gave him another peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you two later, okay?”

  Her dad smiled and nodded.

  She gave her mother a kiss and hug, grateful her mom still had it in her to take care of her father’s every need. She absolutely hated to wonder what would happen to her mom if her dad died first. She would have zero purpose in life.

  It was sad. At least Brandy had purpose and direction, even if she didn’t have love.

  Chapter Five

  Rick tapped on Dave’s door and pushed it open without waiting for him to answer. He could already hear boisterous male voices inside. The Friday night poker night was gearing up..

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Dave called out when he entered. “Help yourself to the beer.”

  Dave, a bachelor like him, had the ultimate man-cave condo. Equipped with a dartboard, foosball table, pool table and giant 55-inch HD television, his place was always the meet-up locale. He hosted a weekly poker night, and they arranged all work-related—or pseudo work related—meetings to happen at his place.

  Last year, after the boys took the State championship, he’d hosted a post-season victory party for the boys, buying them root beer and Mountain Dew and letting them go nuts with all his games.

  “It’s going.” Rick grabbed a Dos Equis and squeezed a wedge of lime into the mouth of the bottle before shoving it through the neck to drop down into the beer. A tiny plastic Christmas tree stood on Dave’s kitchen counter, probably his only holiday decoration. Not that Rick could throw stones. His mother had tried to get him to decorate, but he’d refused. That’s what her place was for.

  The usual suspects were all there—Dave and Phil, of course, Bill, a neighbor of Dave’s, his brother-in-law, John, and Burt, the basketball coach from Houston High.

  “What’s the word?” he said by way of greeting to everyone.

  “Hey, Rick,” Phil called from the couch where he was playing Black Ops on the Xbox. “No!” he screamed at the screen, pitching his body to the left as he tapped the controller frantically. With his headset sitting slightly askew and his eyes bugging out at the screen, he looked half-maniacal.

  Rick chuckled.

  “Can you believe this shit?” Dave held up that day’s copy of The Houston Chronicle. He hadn’t looked but he’d already heard that Stan Brown, the King of Douchebaggery, aka the sports columnist, had lambasted him again over the way he’d coached last night’s game. The guy’s kid went to Coral Heights, Houston High’s biggest rival, and he had it out for Rick and Houston High. The way things looked now, they’d probably be playing Coral Heights for the playoffs, which meant it would only get uglier from here. Texans took football seriously, even at the high school level. An entire stadium had been rented out for the playoffs in a few weeks, and the press was hot on everything to do with them.

  “I’ve told you before not to read that rag. Nothing good will come of it.”

  “I think we should throw bags of dog shit on the douchebag’s porch steps,” Phil yelled from the living room. His voice was way too loud, even for calling from another room, probably from the adrenaline of playing the game.

  “Or cut his cable line.” Burt chuckled. He’d been on the receiving end of Stan’s vindictive columns too.

  Rick rolled his eyes. “He’s just mad we beat Raven Ridge, even without our best linebacker. He was hoping his son’s team would be up against Raven Ridge instead of us for the playoffs.”

  “Well, that’s obvious.” Dave slapped the paper down, sending the stack of paper napkins fluttering to the floor. “Oops.” He bent to pick them up.

  Curiosity got the better of Rick. “So what did I do wrong this time?”

  “Well, it turns out you’re only in the game for your own ego and you don’t care about kids getting hurt. He predicts you’ll be putting your star linebacker Donald Fleming back in the game too soon,” Dave said.

  “Jesus, can’t we sue him for libel or something? I mean, he just makes shit up!” Phil yelled, then followed it by a series of expletives and finally, “Got you, motherfucker!”

  “Right? It’s not even like anyone got hurt last night. How did he even segue into that comment?”

  “Read it,” Dave prompted, shoving the paper toward him.

  He started to pick it up, but good sense prevailed. “Not going to do it. I decided a long time ago never to let this stuff get to me. If I read it, I’m only going to get pissed off and then after we get a few beers in us, we’ll all be down at the dickwad’s house pissing on his lawn.”

  “Can we do that anyway?” Dave asked.

  The guys laughed and Burt lifted his beer to clink his. “Hear, hear.”

  “Come on, let’s play some cards,” Rick said.

  “Wait, wait, wait, wait... yes!” Phil shouted from the couch. He was pounding his feet on the floor, probably annoying the hell out of whoever lived below.

  “Phil, you can join us for the next round,” Rick advised. “We wouldn’t want to keep you from killing anyone.”

  “Take that you... oh fuck.” Phil tore off his headset. “It’s okay, I died. Let’s play.”

  The guys gathered around the table and Rick picked up the cards to shuffle. “I’ll deal.”

  Phil sat down beside him, carrying two fresh Dos Equis, wedges of lime stuffed in the mouths. He pushed one toward Rick. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He slid the cards across the table, dealing. “Everything set for the clinic Sunday?”

  “Yep, I got Jake Farrow, a parent volunteer lined up, we’re good to go. Did you look at the forms? Anyone interesting?”

  “One kid. I don’t know him, but his mom is Brandy Love, the owner of Phenomenal Physiques. She’s been letting me work out with Donnie there for free.”

  “Hope he’s good,” Dave said with a wry smile. “Be a shame to burn that bridge.”

  He hoped the kid was good, too. Not because he wanted to keep using Brandy for her gym. Because for some reason, he already cared about her kid.

  But that was stupid. Brandy was not his woman, nor would she ever be, no matter how many times he fantasized about having her. Which meant he should not be especially invested in her kid.

  Too bad his heart never seemed to cotton onto his logical mind’s decisions.

  * * *

  Brandy sighed and flipped off the lights left on by the last teacher who used the back studio. Everyone had gone for the night and she was closing up. She only closed on Saturdays, when the kids spent the night at their dad’s.

  And yes, that was why she didn’t have time for a love life. Because when in the hell would she ever go on a date?

  The sound of water dripping in the men’s locker room made her sigh. Someone had left a faucet on again. It drove her crazy. The cleaning people would probably turn it off when they came, but she didn’t want to leave it running—she paid the water bill here, and some months it cost her a fortune.

  She pushed open the door. All the lights were still on, too. Good thing she checked.

  As she zipped around the corner toward the showers, the water abruptly stopped and her mouth dropped open in shock.

  Holy hardbody, Batman!

  A naked, muscled, hot man stood dripping wet in front of her, his face—and only his face—covered with his towel as he wiped water from his head.

  Coach Perfect.

  Lord help her, he was even more stunning with his clothes off.

  The towel lowered and piercing green eyes fixed on her.

  The proper thi
ng to do would be to turn and hightail it out. Or to at least avert her eyes. To apologize profusely. But she seemed to have frozen. She couldn’t even bring her hand up to cover her gaping mouth.

  Rick’s lips curved into sexy smirk. He didn’t move to cover himself as he padded toward her. The soft splash of his flip-flops on the wet tile seemed to echo, almost as loudly as the beating of her heart.

  Her eyes traveled down the length of his body, resting on his hardening cock, which was huge, like the rest of him.

  “What’s wrong?” he drawled in his deep, sexy voice, “The water in the women’s locker room too cold?”

  She took one step back from him as he continued to advance. She didn’t trust herself if she got in touching distance of that... naked... hard….

  She jerked her eyes back up to his face. “I... uh... I’m sorry. I was just locking up. I didn’t realize you were in here.”

  He cocked his head. “I don’t know, you look a little dirty to me.” He was in her personal space now, right in front of her, naked and gleaming. “Come on in here, let me wash you off.”

  She literally swayed on her feet as the blood rushed out of her head and flooded the area about two feet south. And then her hands were on his wet chest, rubbing water droplets through the soft curling hairs.

  He covered her hands, captured them, not letting her pull away. He took one in his own and pulled her toward the shower, as if serious about washing her off.

  “Rick... I, uh…” She dragged her feet a little, offering a show of resistance.

  “Shh.” He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, dampening her clothes with the moisture on his body. His lips came down and crushed hers, shutting her up, overpowering her, until her head swam and all rational thought fled her mind.

  She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with more ardor than she knew she had in her.

  God, his lips were soft and strong. He sucked at hers, licked into her mouth. One hand came up to cup the back of her head and he held her in place for his onslaught.

  Against her belly, his cock thickened and twitched.

  She sighed and moaned and he captured them all with his lips, devouring her as his tongue thrust into her mouth.

  Suddenly the water was on, spraying them both, soaking her hair and clothes. She steadied herself by wrapping her arms around his neck, never stopping with the frantic kissing as she toed off her sneakers.

  He yanked her yoga top off over her head and his expression as he reached for her breast took her breath away.

  Hunger.

  Shock. Pleasure. Worship. Satisfaction.

  She read it all on his face as he crushed her breast and lifted it to his mouth. He was too rough, and she loved every minute of it. She’d never felt “overpowered” by a man before—had never wanted to—but this... this was amazing.

  He nipped and sucked at her nipple, laved it with his tongue until both breasts swelled and ached, nipples standing out in stiff peaks. Then he was at the other breast, teasing and torturing it.

  Her hips snapped forward and she arched under his hands.

  He slid his thumbs in the waistband of her stretch pants and dragged them down, squatting to help her step out of them.

  “Oh hell, yeah,” he muttered as he lifted his torso, his eyes on her neatly trimmed mons. His fingers arrived there before he’d fully stood, exploring her slippery heat.

  She gasped, bucking at his confident touch.

  Yes, Rick Morehouse knew his way around a pussy. That should have made her brain throw the brakes back on, but it didn’t. Because it. Felt. Wonderful. His fingers were large and he rubbed from her dewy entrance up to her pulsing clit and back again.

  Heat poured off her in waves, and the steam around them couldn’t just be from the shower.

  His mouth attacked hers again, his hand gently tugging her head back with her hair.

  With another guy, she might have been offended by the rough touch—but he awoke pure animalistic passion in her.

  “Mmm,” she crooned as his lips twisted over hers. One finger delved inside her. She hooked an arm around his neck because her knees were in serious danger of buckling.

  He shoved her back against the cool tile and penetrated her with two fingers now. His hands were so large the digits filled her completely.

  She bit her lips and moaned, rocked her hips to meet his thrusts.

  He dropped to a crouch again and lifted one of her legs, throwing it over his shoulder. Even though she guessed what he was going to do, she was unprepared for the shock as his tongue hit her clit.

  She gasped and gripped his wet hair, pulling hard.

  “That’s it, angel,” he murmured. “Take your pleasure.”

  She tipped her pelvis toward his face and cried out hoarsely.

  He shoved his fingers deep inside her, hitting the magic g-spot.

  “Oh, God,” she whined. “Oh, please.”

  “Take it.”

  He sucked her clit, licked it, flicked it all the while pumping his thick digits.

  She came unglued. No, she just came. Hard. With a keening wail that filled the locker room and echoed off the walls, she took every bit of pleasure Coach Perfect offered. Her muscles clamped down, squeezing his fingers in pulsing waves.

  Her foot slipped, but Rick had her, pinning her pelvis up against the wall, not letting her fall, or rest until every last bit of pleasure had been wrung out of her. When the orgasm had finally passed, she sagged, her limbs like rubber, unable to move or think or speak.

  Rick stood slowly, a satisfied smirk on his face. He reached beside her head and turned off the water. “You’re beautiful when you come,” he murmured, his eyes heavy-lidded, as if drunk on her pleasure.

  She blushed like a schoolgirl. Had he been watching her while she came? That was embarrassing. Well, two could play at that game. She reached for his cock but he caught her wrist and pressed it back against the tile wall by her head.

  “Uh uh.” He leaned in and kissed her again, a sensuous exploring of her lips. When they broke apart, he gave a lazy smile. “That was for you. Because you don’t get enough help around here.”

  She pushed her wet hair from her eyes. “I’m happy to return the favor.” She licked her lips, making sure he saw her tongue take a slow ride around her mouth.

  His eyes darkened and his cock stiffened even more, but to her surprise, he shook his head. “No... I’d like it better if you owed me one.”

  Her brows drew together, her post-orgasmic mind not following him. “What?”

  He kissed her again, which didn’t help the fuzzy brain situation. “You said you’re not dating right now. And I’m really not, either. But everybody can use a little help... in or out of the shower now and then.” He reached for his towel, which at some point had magically ended up back on the hook. Grabbing the corners, he wrapped it around her.

  Warmth and languor flowed through her body, the bliss of her orgasm leaving her open and receptive to anything he had to say, even though she still didn’t quite follow.

  “I guess I don’t want this to be our one and only hookup,” he explained, his husky voice spiking a renewed shiver of need through her “That was hot—smoking hot. And I want a repeat. Soon. So I’m gonna walk out of here with you owing me.”

  That shit-eating smirk was all over his face again. He knew he was the cat’s meow with women. He could pretty much tell her anything right then and she’d accept it.

  Who was she to argue with his logic? It wasn’t dating, it was a hookup. He wanted a booty call.

  Nothing wrong with that. If neither of them was looking for a relationship, then no one would get hurt. She wrapped the towel around her waist, a choice he obviously appreciated, based on the flick of eyebrows at her bare breasts.

  “You want me to owe you, huh?” She adopted a flirty tone.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “All right, Coach. You’re up by one point. Be ready for me, I’ll be practicing m
y moves.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, the deep baritone filling her chest with pleasure.

  She bent to pick up her soaked clothes, but he beat her to them. “I’ve got it. My treat, remember? You’re not working here tonight.”

  She laughed, ripples of pleasure flowing through her. “You are something else, big guy.”

  He wrung her clothing out and gave her a sheepish grin. “I have a spare T-shirt in my gym bag.

  “That’s okay, I keep extra clothes here.”

  He wrapped his thick arm around her waist again and pulled her in for another kiss. “Thank you,” he murmured when they broke apart, although she couldn’t figure out why he’d be thanking her when she was the sole beneficiary of their activities. “That was nice.”

  “I believe I’m the one who does the thanking here.” She stood on her tiptoes to initiate another kiss.

  He squeezed her ass through the towel as she did, sending a fresh shot of desire coursing through her. But there would be a next time. Possibly many next times. Without the constraints of a relationship.

  Yes, this arrangement had success written all over it.

  All she had to do was hang onto her heart.

  * * *

  Brandy broke away from him and smiled. She looked absolutely beautiful. Of course, she always was a knockout, but right now she wore that “just fucked” flush with the bright, dilated eyes and a relaxed and peaceful expression. He wanted to see that face on her on a daily basis.

  That was probably asking too much, but he’d take whatever he could get. Brandy Love rocked his world.

  She glided toward the door, wearing nothing but his towel around her waist.

  “Hang on a second.” He dug in his gym bag and pulled out a clean T-shirt. “I don’t want you walking out there like that. What if there’s some other guy still hanging around somewhere?”

  She laughed, a husky musical sound, and caught the shirt when he tossed it. She slid it on and it fell over her like a dress, far too large. Somehow, she looked even sexier to him in his T-shirt, her long, muscular legs framed by the hemline. Possibly he just liked seeing her in something he owned, as if it somehow marked her as belonging to him.