Covering Kendall

by Julie Brannagh

  “He had to step down two weeks ago due to a Securities and Exchange Commission investigation.”

  The past two weeks in the Miners’ front office had been as fun as a root canal without Novocain but she wasn’t discussing that with anyone outside of the team ownership.

  She knew he must have been somewhat smart if he wanted to spend his evening listening to Carl Sagan’s biographer in a bookstore, but right now, he was having trouble verbalizing his thoughts.

  It took a few seconds, but she saw a smirk spread over his face.

  “You . . . you run the Miners? You couldn’t get a job with a better team?” The arch rivalry had reared its ugly head.

  “A better team, huh? We beat you how many times last season?” she said, but she smiled at him.

  He laughed out loud.

  “We’ll be handing your team their asses on Sunday, Kendall. You’re in our house now.”

  Drew was still holding her hand. She snatched it away. She couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize her. She’d got an avalanche of press over her new job in the past month. Right now, though, getting Drew out of her room (and hopefully, out of the hotel and undetected) was first on her agenda.

  “I’m guessing this means our night is over,” he said.

  DREW CONSIDERED HIMSELF a pretty easygoing, uncomplicated guy. He wasn’t a slave to fashion. He wore what felt good. When he had an attraction as strong as the one he was currently experiencing toward the robe-clad woman two feet from him (and he knew the feeling was mutual), he acted on it.

  He’d like to hurl himself back into Kendall’s warm and dry bed for a while, preferably with her. He understood the word “no.” He also understood he wasn’t going to be able to go outside and grab a cab to get home while commando beneath a stolen Westin Hotels bathrobe. He could call one of his teammates to haul his ass out of here, but again, buck naked in a hotel bathrobe in the middle of a windstorm: The resulting cell phone photos would be trending on Twitter before he made it out of the parking lot.

  He tried pulling his jeans on; they were so wet he couldn’t get them over his thighs. She’d vanished into the bathroom.

  “Hey, Kendall,” he called out.

  She emerged from the bathroom a few seconds later. God, she was beautiful. Her cheeks were pink with lust, embarrassment, or both. She’d brushed her hair. The faint scent of green apples drifted toward him again. Her mouth was a little swollen from his kisses too. If he started thinking about what she was or was not wearing underneath that bathrobe, he’d have to go stand in a cold shower for a while.

  She glanced at the jeans stuck halfway up his thighs. She was having a tough time tearing her eyes away from him.

  “I’m guessing you might need something dry to wear,” she said.

  He kicked the jeans off and sat down on the couch, tucking the robe around him so he didn’t flash her.

  “Maybe you have a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt I could borrow in that suitcase.”

  “I have yoga pants and—”

  “I’ll take them,” he said.

  “They might not fit.”

  She was probably half his size. They weren’t going to fit at all, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “I’ll make it work. Don’t they stretch?”

  She turned to the soft-sided suitcase on a rack by the dresser. “Let’s see here.” She pulled out a pair of black, short-ish yoga pants and a bright orange racing bra thing. “I’m going to have to find you a T-shirt of some kind. I don’t wear them for yoga. I—”

  He reached out to take the yoga pants out of her hand. “I’ll try these first.”

  He’d had more than one girlfriend who wore these. The brand fit like a second skin, and whatever it was they were constructed out of clung to a woman’s ass. His ex-girlfriend hadn’t made it to a single yoga class when she’d worn them in front of him. He’d removed them as quickly as possible.

  He stuck one foot into the pants. He could at least pull them over his thighs. They covered him to just above his kneecap. He was used to wearing short pants on a football field, so this wasn’t a problem. He’d look like an idiot, but he’d be covered.

  A grin crossed Kendall’s face. “Maybe they will fit after all.”

  He stuck his other foot in and slowly drew the fabric over his thighs and up to his waist. Surprisingly, there was a limit to spandex. He heard Kendall let out a gasp and glanced up to see even more color spreading over her cheekbones. She swallowed hard.

  His package looked massive as he looked down. The fabric outlined every ridge and every contour. The entire city of Bellevue was about to learn he was circumcised. His dick wasn’t calming down anytime soon with soft fabric rubbing against it—soft fabric that held Kendall’s green apple scent. Those tights-wearing ballet guys had nothing on him. Holy shit. The shorter pants were the least of his problems. If he went out like this, he’d get arrested for indecent exposure. He wrapped the robe around himself again.

  “This may not work,” he said.

  She still regarded him warily, but he saw her lips curve into a reluctant smile. “It seems to be working just fine.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” he said. The yoga pants were cutting off his circulation. He wrestled them off himself and shook them out. Suffice it to say he was buying Kendall another pair; he’d stretched them out. She watched him fold them and put the soft bundle on the computer table next to the couch he sat down on. He turned to face her again and took a step in her direction. He stared into her silvery-gray eyes. “You want me. I want you.”

  “We can’t do this—”

  “We’re consenting adults stuck in a hotel room together.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have to act on our every impulse,” she said, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye. He would never force any woman to be with him, but her body language told him she was wavering. She swayed toward him. He moved a little closer. She still wouldn’t look into his eyes. He reached out for her hand. She didn’t yank it away.

  His voice was soft and beguiling. “How are we going to resolve this?” He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. She still wouldn’t look up at him, and she bit her lower lip.

  Her voice was low and unsteady. “We’re not stuck,” she said. “All we have to do is find you some dry clothes. I don’t have a rental car this time, so I’ll ask the front desk to call you a cab.” She dropped his hand, hurried over to the bedside table, and picked up the phone’s handset to make a call.

  “Hello. May I talk to housekeeping, please?” she said.

  Drew spent the next few minutes listening to Kendall’s side of the conversation, which was increasingly comical. She was polite but persistent. Even a luxury hotel had a problem coming up with clothing that would fit a six foot four, 250-pound linebacker at almost midnight.

  “Is it possible to wash and dry his clothing? How long will that take?” She listened to the answer, and the only indicator Drew had that Kendall didn’t like the answer she got was her folded lips. “There has to be some clothing he could wear to get home in. Is there a lost and found? How about an extra employee uniform?” She listened for a moment. “Got it. We’ll take whatever you have, and thank you for the extra effort.” She hung up the phone and turned to Drew again. “They’re sending the manager up with clothes for you, and they’re calling you a cab.”

  “Thanks.”

  The hotel had superior soundproofing, but he could hear the storm raging outside. The lights flickered. He knew there were generators, so power outage wasn’t really a concern. The power might be out at his house, though.

  Kendall gave him a nod. She picked up the abandoned sheet on the floor, shoved the comforter off the bed, and tried to re-spread the sheet. “I can never get these on the first try,” she muttered.

  Drew covered the room in a few strides to the opposite side of the bed, grabbing the sheet in both hands and spreading it across again more evenly. “How’s that?”

  “Better. Thank
you.”

  She continued smoothing wrinkles out of the bedding, tucking the sheet in as she went. Drew spread the downy comforter over the top of the smooth sheets and fluffed the pillows. He didn’t typically perform domestic chores on what could still be considered a date, but he liked watching Kendall’s attention to detail. Her brows knit as she straightened the pillows and made sure the comforter was even. She’d be sleeping in the bed alone, but she wanted to make sure she was comfortable.

  She glanced up from her painstaking attention to bedding perfection and said, “We need to talk.”

  He straightened to his full height and forced himself to smile. There wasn’t an adult anywhere who enjoyed hearing the words “We need to talk,” but he would take whatever was coming like a man.

  She brushed hair out of her eyes and shoved her hands inside the pockets of the robe. Kendall’s poised and sophisticated veneer melted away as he saw hesitation and a flash of sadness in her expression.

  “You’re right. I am attracted to you,” she said. “You’re interesting, funny, and I want to keep talking with you. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, and I’ve wanted to for a long time now. At the same time, getting involved with you is professional suicide.” She let out a long sigh and looked into his eyes at last. “It won’t help your career, either, and maybe that should be a sign to both of us.”

  “I feel the same way about you,” he said. “Why is it anyone else’s business but ours?”

  “You know it would be,” she said. Her voice dropped again. “I wish it could be different.”

  They stared at each other for a few seconds. She was right. The pull of attraction was almost overpowering, and this never happened to him so fast after meeting a woman. He shouldn’t take the chance that they wouldn’t be found out if they tried to meet each other in secret. “I understand,” he said.

  He gathered his wet clothes off the hotel room floor, folding them enough to cram them into the plastic bag the hotel typically collected laundry in. They heard a knock at the door.

  “I’ll get it,” he told her. She’d wrapped her arms around herself.

  The hotel manager handed him another plastic bag. “It’s not stylish, but it will work. If you could return these at your convenience, we’d appreciate it.” Drew reached out to shake his hand. “Are you sure you want to go out in the storm tonight? We have a room available and I can offer you the walk-in rate.”

  “I need to get home,” he told the guy. “Thanks for the offer and for the clothes.”

  “If there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.”

  Drew hurried into the bathroom, shut the door behind him, and started pulling items out of the bag. A doorman’s uniform and a worn but clean Dallas T-shirt that must have been left behind by another guest. He’d still have to go commando, but if he could get downstairs and into a cab, he’d be home in fifteen minutes. The guy had been nice enough to include a small bag of hotel toiletries, including a comb. He used the covered black elastic he always wore on one wrist to pull his hair into a ponytail.

  He yanked the polyester pants on, jammed his feet back into his soaking wet cross trainers, and pulled the T-shirt on over his head. He wondered if the team fine would be bigger for the obscene fit of Kendall’s yoga pants or the fact he might be photographed in another team’s merchandise. He left the uniform’s tunic unbuttoned. It didn’t fit well across his chest.

  He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. He didn’t want to leave, but he had no choice. It was best for them both if they stayed away from each other.

  KENDALL STOOD UP from the couch when Drew emerged from the men’s room. A mismatched hotel bellman’s uniform and ratty old T-shirt looked spectacular on him. He grabbed his wet jacket off of the couch and shrugged into it.

  She handed him the plastic bag with the new book he’d bought in it. His fingers brushed hers. It felt like she’d stuck her wet fingers in a power socket. The shock of attraction and lust forced her to struggle for words.

  “I . . . I put the Malcolm Gladwell book in there too. Don’t worry about getting it back to me. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

  “I think I will.” He moved a little closer. There was an invisible force field pulling her into his warmth. “How about a hug?”

  She knew any further physical contact with him was a stupid, stupid move, but she did it anyway. His hold on her was gentle. The jacket was damp, but she didn’t care. He laid his stubbly cheek against hers and said into her ear, “I hope we’ll see each other again soon.”

  She relished the feeling of her arms around his neck, the cool brush of his hair against her skin, and the powerful muscles beneath her hands.

  “Sunday afternoon,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be the one in the Sharks uniform.”

  “I’ll be the one in the Miners’ suite.” She hauled in a breath. “Good luck.”

  “You too.” His mouth touched hers in a sweet and fleeting kiss. She wanted more. “Should I call you when I retire from the league?”

  She should let go of him. She should push him out of the hotel room, lock the door, and pretend like she never wanted to see him again. She couldn’t. Instead, she nodded.

  “Don’t say goodbye,” he murmured. He stroked her cheek with one big hand. He turned to walk away.

  She watched the hotel room door shut behind him.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  DREW ENDURED THE equivalent of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride through the streets of Bellevue on his way home. The cab driver was skilled, but he was having a tough time navigating standing water, streets strewn with tree branches, and random debris that had blown out of people’s yards. Drew heard his phone chirping with e-mails and text messages a few times during the trip home, but he ignored it. He was too busy willing the towering evergreens bent almost double in the wind to stay standing and not hit the car he was traveling in if and when they fell.

  He reached into his pocket when the cab driver pulled up in front of his house and handed the guy the two fifty-dollar bills he had in his wallet for a fifteen-dollar trip.

  “If I had any idea it was this bad, I would have stayed at the hotel. I’m sorry you had to be out in this. Thank you for driving me home,” he told the guy. “I hope you’ll get back there safely.”

  “I’ll be fine.” The guy stared at the money for a moment. “Would you like your change?”

  “No. It’s all yours.” He unsnapped his seatbelt. “Thank you again.”

  The guy gestured at Drew’s front door. “Get inside where you’re safe, sir. Have a nice evening.”

  Drew spotted his teammate Derrick’s car in the driveway as he got out of the cab. The wind blew him sideways up the front walk of his house. He’d been in Seattle for a couple of years now; he’d never seen weather like this before. The wind howled, rain sluiced down in sheets, and he jumped at the rumble of unexpected thunder: It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other right now.

  He grabbed his house keys out of the uniform pants pocket and promptly dropped them onto the mat. “Shit.” He heard thunder rolling again, and the sizzle of lightning lit up the night. He jammed the key in the lock, turned it, and shoved against the door with all his might. It swung open. He managed to get inside the front door of his house, shoved it closed, and checked the alarm system keypad to his left by reflex. It was disabled.

  Relief washed over him. He was home, he was safe, and despite his stupidity in driving over in the first place, Derrick (the knucklehead) was safe as well. He could hear the sound of someone (actually, someones) playing video games from his family room.

  He laid the bag with the books on the hallway table and dropped the bag with his wet clothing next to it. He’d deal with all of it later.

  He grabbed his phone out of his pocket as he padded on almost silent rubber soles toward his family room. Seven texts, four of which were from Derrick. Maybe he’d let Derrick live. He heard his teammate Seth T
aylor’s voice.

  “Where the hell do you think McCoy is, anyway?”

  Drew heard Derrick answering Seth. “Damned if I know. His car’s still in the garage. I talked to him at four o’clock. I told him it was double-points weekend on Xbox Live. Of course it’s the weekend the fucking power goes out.”

  “Nice to see you could both stop by,” Drew said as he rounded the corner. The two men sitting on his family room couch were staring intently at his flat-screen TV and working their game controllers. Good. If they remained focused on the game, they wouldn’t notice his ridiculous outfit. His coffee table was festooned with the remains of two large Pagliacci pizzas, dirty paper plates, and empty beer bottles. They’d been here a while. Of course there were no leftovers for him.

  “Shit, McCoy, where the hell you been? I told you my mama and grandma are staying in my condo right now. Can’t game while they’re there,” Derrick said.

  Seth shook his head. “I love his grandma, but she was reading Bible verses out loud while we were trying to get to the next level on Titanfall.”

  “Grandma’s worried about our spiritual lives,” Derrick said. “My mama wanted me to take her to some church revival thing tonight. I love her, but it wasn’t going to happen.”

  There were two grocery bags on Drew’s kitchen island. Maybe there was something edible in there. One of the bags contained two six-packs of microbrew. He glanced into the other bag, moving aside two bags of Juanita’s tortilla chips to spot four large bags of Skittles, a bag of mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and the biggest bag of plain M&M’s he’d ever seen. It was carb-loading at its finest. He was going to have to look through his own refrigerator for sustenance, it seemed.

  The guys still hadn’t glanced over at him. They might put the game controllers down if some young, beautiful women walked into his family room. Then again, probably not.

  “How’d you get out of that?” Drew said.

  Derrick stabbed at one of the buttons on the game controller while Seth let out a groan.