Draw Play: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 4)

by Jami Davenport

  “You have a point.” Bruiser had battled that label himself, just because he took care of his appearance and dressed in expensive clothes. Truthfully, he hated shopping, but it was all part of his persona. He played the part. The ladies loved how he looked, and men wanted to be him, which put money in his endorsers’ pockets and, in turn, Bruiser’s pockets.

  “Besides, you got the hots for her, not me.” Well, except for some recurring erotic fantasies, and he didn’t have a clue where they were coming from. Maybe he’d grown as weary of his Barbie-doll dates as he had of modeling.

  Brett cleared his throat, suddenly looking nervous. “I have to warn you.”

  “Warn me? About Mac?” Bruiser snorted out a laugh.

  “Uh. Not exactly. I saw your mom a few days ago.”

  Bruiser stiffened. “Did you get your hair cut?” Brett was the only teammate who’d ever met his family. Bruiser’s mother and sister owned a hair salon on the peninsula. Brett had been going there for a year. Bruiser wouldn’t let them touch his hair. He preferred to get it cut at a trendy salon in Bellevue rather than in his mother’s pink and purple monument to poor taste.

  “Yup. Eunice and Shanna said they haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I know.” Bruiser swallowed back the guilt. He sent them money once a month to help pay for the salon expenses rather than visiting them, as if that replaced him. His mother, Eunice, had left five messages on his phone this week. Instead of calling her, he’d sent a text message.

  Yeah, he was a crappy son, one who pretended he didn’t have a family, which made him a crappy person too.

  Bruiser hated dishonesty for a multitude of reasons. His father had figured truth was useless when you could spin a whole web of lies. And Bruiser’s ex-wife had used lies and guilt in equal doses to get what she wanted. Forget that Bruiser practiced his own brand of deception every waking hour of his day, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, rather than embracing who he was. But at least he was only hurting himself. This thing with keeping his family hidden was another thing altogether.

  “Then why don’t you go see them?”

  “Why don’t you go see your family?” Bruiser shot back.

  Brett almost smiled. “Touché.” He looked down at his watch. “Uh, but that’s not exactly what I’m warning you about.”

  “What is it then?”

  “You know how you told me your mother and sister like to chat?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Brett was the only person he ever talked to about Eunice and Shanna, but even so, he didn’t know everything about him, not the most important thing.

  “Well, I told them about Mac and the barbecue. They volunteered to style her hair, do all that beauty stuff, the whole works on the house.”

  “Oh, no. No way.”

  “She doesn’t have much money. They’d do it for free.” Brett seemed to be trying hard not to smile, the dumb ass.

  “No. I don’t want my mother and sister filling her full of embarrassing stories about my childhood.” Or even worse, telling her the entire tragic truth of his childhood, a truth he fought tooth and nail to hide. Embarrassment he could handle; pity and blame he couldn’t.

  “You know that’s not what you’re worried about. They embarrass you. You’re a real asshole.”

  If Brett only knew. “Yeah, so what?” Bruiser played along. He hated the guilt that burrowed a little deeper into his heart every day, which had a lot to do with why he avoided his family.

  “Well, it’s a done deal. I told Zach, and Kelsie set up an appointment for Mac.”

  “Ah, fuck. I thought we were friends. My mother’s been trying to marry me off to a nice girl for years. She’ll latch onto Mac like a bur on my ass.”

  Brett, the rat bastard, actually grinned a very rare grin. “Good luck with that.” He stood, grabbed his jacket, and chuckled as he went out the door, leaving Bruiser alone with his thoughts.

  “Well, shit.” Bruiser spoke out loud. He worked damn hard to keep his personal and professional lives apart, and his buddy just mashed them all up together.

  With friends like Brett, who needed enemies?

  Bruiser shrugged into his jacket and got the hell out of there.

  Mac was kneeling in the flower beds at the front door of the practice facility as he walked out. He hesitated, his gaze dropping to her nicely rounded ass in those tight jeans. A ponytail tangle of dark-blonde hair fell across one shoulder, and a thin sheen of sweat covered the bare skin above the back of her tank top. Bruiser licked his lips. His dick hardened instantly. Odd, since thinking about Chelsea and Sondra didn’t get the slightest rise out of it.

  Bruiser held his duffle bag in front of his crotch and plastered his charming smile on his face, a smile he’d never used before on Mac. Why he was using it now, he hadn’t a fucking clue. This was just Mac, tomboy extraordinaire and good buddy to the majority of the team. If he were lucky, she’d say she’d changed her mind, and he’d be off the hook. Oddly enough, that possibility actually disappointed him.

  One way or another, he’d convince her to get her hair done elsewhere. His mother and sister talked too much, way too much, and he didn’t need Mac or anyone else knowing his entire sorry past.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He came to stop a few feet from her, careful to keep his expensive shoes on the sidewalk and out of the fresh soil.

  Mac glanced over her shoulder, dirt smeared under one cheek. She rolled her eyes. “Beautiful? Seriously?” She glanced away and wiped a strand of dull-blonde hair off her forehead with chipped and ragged fingernails. His mother would be appalled at their state, which almost made him smile. Almost.

  “Absolutely. In an au naturel sort of way.” Bruiser gave her his sexiest smile, the one that usually had women unzipping his pants. Not so with Mac.

  “Are you on drugs?” Mac snorted and sat back on her haunches, stretching the fabric of her jeans tighter around her ass. Bruiser’s throat went dry, and he coughed.

  She studied him with narrowed eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, Bruiser jumped in the deep end, grateful he could swim with the best of them, and dialed up the charm. “The only drug I need is your smile.”

  “Let me get my boots on. It’s getting pretty deep out here.”

  Bruiser leaned against the nearby building. “Have I got a deal for you, Mac. I’m going to save you the time of going all the way over to the peninsula to get your hair done. I’m setting you up with my stylist, Armand. The man’s a regular miracle worker.”

  Mac frowned. “So you’re saying I need a miracle?”

  “Uh, no, no,” Bruiser backtracked—great time for his legendary silver tongue to turn to scrap metal. What an idiot thing to say to a woman. “I’m just thinking you don’t want to spend an hour one way on the Bremerton ferry.”

  “Maybe I enjoy a good ferry ride.” She narrowed her eyes in a look that was pure badass Mac. “Are you ashamed of having your mother meet me?”

  He was really fucking this up. “It’s not you, it’s them. They’re a little tough to handle.”

  She didn’t look like she believed him.

  Bruiser dropped the charming act. “Oh, come on, Mac. I like you. I’m trying to save you here. You don’t want to be around my mom and sister. Trust me.”

  “I don’t?” She tempered her response with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Her face softened, making her look almost—pretty? Mac? Damn, his weird attraction to her needed to stop.

  “You seriously don’t.”

  “You just blew it, buster. Now I’m more committed than ever to meet them.”

  “Please, Mac. Let me make an appointment with Armand. He’s one of the best stylists in Seattle. My treat.”

  “And miss meeting Shanna and Eunice? Not on your fucking life.”

  Shaking his head, he grinned at her in spite of himself. “You’re a firecracker, Mac.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  Chapter 5—You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet

  Hands
with fingernails like bear claws shoved Mac into a salon chair while the She-Wolf Pack—as she’d come to think of Kelsie, Lavender, and Rachel—hovered nearby. As if they didn’t totally trust Bruiser’s sister and mother to do a good job.

  Mac had her own reservations. Judging by the appearance of the place, she’d be lucky to escape without pink hair and fluorescent fingernails. She’d expected a classy salon because Bruiser was the ultimate in class. This place celebrated tacky beyond belief with hot-pink-and-purple wallpaper, purple sinks, pink countertops, and cotton-candy-pink chairs. Even the outside was a nasty Pepto-Bismol pink. All in all, it looked like a Barbie hair salon gone wild.

  Shanna, Bruiser’s sister, went for gaudy-chic with bleached blond hair, a tight purple tank top, and tons of tats, while his mother, Eunice, showed a little less of her wrinkled skin—thank God—but reminded Mac of one of those dance-hall girls with red hair on the old Westerns her dad loved to watch. Had loved to watch—until everything changed.

  Mac swallowed the apple-sized lump lodged in her throat. Now was not the time to think about Will. Now was the time to think about doing all she needed to impress Veronica, even if that meant subjecting herself to a Eunice-Shanna makeover overseen by the Pack.

  The She-Wolves had swept Mac along like a leaf in a flash flood. Once they’d discovered her crush on Bruiser, they jumped in with reckless abandon to transform her into something she wasn’t. She prayed they didn’t tell their men everything, or Mac would never be able to face the team again, especially Bruiser.

  Even worse, she hoped like hell they hadn’t told Eunice or Shanna.

  Mac forced a smile as Eunice pulled up a small stool and bent over Mac’s feet, making tsking noises and shaking her head. Mac squirmed a little and got sharp tug on her hair from Shanna.

  “Hold still.”

  No wonder Bruiser never brought them around or mentioned them. And here she thought he’d been raised with a platinum spoon in his mouth and a trust fund to go with it, not by these two polar opposites. She almost smiled. So, Bruiser was common folk, just like her family. Who’d have guessed?

  She glanced up to find Kelsie hovering over her. The former beauty queen took over, giving Shanna specific instructions and ignoring Shanna’s annoyance. Shanna slathered some smelly crap on her hair, wrapped strands in aluminum foil, and stuck her under a 500-degree hair dryer, leaving her to sweat a gallon while Eunice painted her toes a deep shade of hot pink complete with tiny Lumberjack logos on her big toe nails. Nice touch, she had to admit.

  A half hour later, she sat at Shanna’s station with her back to the mirror. The Pack wouldn’t let her see until Shanna was done. Judging by the smug expression on Kelsie’s face, she liked what she saw. Eunice painted her fingernails to match her toenails. Mac drew the line at acrylic nails. She did gardening for both a living and a hobby for God’s sake.

  Her hair fell to the floor at an alarming rate as Shanna snipped away. Mac tried not to watch.

  Finally, as everyone in the salon oohed and aahed, Shanna spun her around. Mac gaped at the stranger looking back at her in the mirror. This person could not be her. No more split ends. No more dishwater. Her golden hair framed her face and fell a few inches below her shoulders. Wispy bangs feathered across her forehead.

  “What do you think?” Shanna grinned.

  “I think I don’t look like me.”

  “Of course you do. We just brought the woman inside out into the light. We gave you a sassy haircut to match your sassy personality.” Eunice preened like a proud mama who’d just given birth. In a way, she had.

  “You look beautiful, Mac,” Rachel gushed.

  “You’re gonna knock Bruiser on his nice ass. He’ll never know what hit him. The boy will be begging for a little of your special kind of magic.” Lavender winked at her co-conspirators.

  “I’m not doing this to knock Bruiser on his ass. I’m doing this to be taken seriously by Veronica to earn that scholarship.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Lavender rolled her eyes. “Bruiser will be all over you.”

  Mac allowed her wayward, sex-starved imagination to conjure up an image of Bruiser fucking her brains out. Not a bad idea, really. She glanced up guiltily to find Shanna and Eunice reading her as if she’d written those dirty thoughts on her forehead.

  “Our Bruce and this Mackenzie?” Eunice narrowed her eyes and studied her, while Mac squirmed.

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Bullshit.” Lavender turned to Eunice. “She’s got the hots for him.”

  “I do not,” Mac protested, mortified. Heat spread across her cheeks. She’d muzzle Kelsie and Co., or, even better, send them on a one-way trip to anywhere she wasn’t.

  Eunice’s predatory smirk struck fear in Mac’s heart. “You’re just the type Bruce needs, much better than those shallow, emaciated little bitches he parades around for photo ops.”

  “Bruce is an opportunist. He likes his money,” Shanna added without a bit of resentment.

  “When my Bruce gets a look at you, he’ll drop to his knees and give you the world. We’re that good, aren’t we, Shanna?”

  “We are. She’s going to be his game changer.”

  Game changer? Her? Mac? The woman all the guys considered just one of the boys?

  Shanna nodded and smiled smugly. “The selfish bastard has met his match.”

  Mac hoped like hell she hadn’t met hers.

  * * * * *

  Bruiser walked into the burn unit carrying a box of decadent chocolates, handmade at a little store in the Fremont district. He grinned at Elliot sitting up in the bed, bandages covering most of his body after his recent surgery. “Hey, buddy, you’re up. How ya feeling?”

  The boy genius and ass-kicker in checkers frowned and shrugged his bony shoulders.

  Bruiser sat on the edge of Elliot’s bed. He took the lid off the box and held it out to Elliot. “Check this out. Best chocolates in Seattle.”

  Elliot stared in the box and took out one chocolate. “Thanks.” No smile. No reaction.

  “Try it.”

  “Later.” Elliot set the foil-wrapped chocolate on the nightstand. He stared past Bruiser and out the window.

  “You need to start moving around. Stretch out your new skin so it doesn’t shrink too much. How about you and I walk up and down the hall a few times.”

  Elliot sighed as if he carried the burdens of the world on his thin shoulders. Finally, he met Bruiser’s gaze. “Do you think I’ll ever have a girlfriend?”

  Bruiser choked and blinked a few times. Damn, he hadn’t seen that one coming. “You’re a little young to be worrying about that now.”

  “I’m eleven. Girls think I look like a monster. They’re actually afraid of me, like I’m not human.” He held up a gnarled and twisted hand. His mouth turned down in a bigger frown.

  Bruiser considered Elliot’s words. “The only woman worth having is one who sees beyond what’s on the outside to the great person on the inside.” Bruiser mentally patted himself on the back for his good answer, even if it made him the world’s biggest hypocrite. After all, he rarely looked deeper than a woman’s bare skin.

  “What would you know about that?” The kid’s perceptiveness set Bruiser back on his heels for a moment.

  “Uh, because I’ve been there. When she didn’t get what she wanted out of me, she found someone else who could give her the money and fame she craved.” Bruiser laughed. “The joke’s on her. That next year I started in the NFL, and she ended up with a third-string quarterback who’s been cut time and again.”

  “Now you can have any woman you want.”

  “Sometimes that’s a curse.”

  “No way.” Elliot squinted at him through the thick lenses of his glasses, as if not really buying Bruiser’s bullshit. Only it wasn’t bullshit. It was the honest-to-God truth, and Bruiser lived with it every day. Women didn’t look beyond Bruiser’s football fame and outward appearance, didn’t give a shit about what was inside. Not that he
didn’t do the same thing, because he did. Yet, here he was counseling this kid on looking beneath the surface. Who the hell was he to talk?

  “It can be. People take you at face value and don’t think you have anything else to offer.”

  “If they take me at face value, they’ll think I’m a monster.”

  “You’re not a monster. You’re going to recover, and surgery will take care of the rest.”

  Elliot didn’t look convinced. Not one damn bit. Bruiser didn’t blame him. Not only did Elliot struggle with physical scars, he struggled with the deep emotional scars of losing his entire family.

  “I understand you drove your friends away. You were really mean to them.”

  “They either stared at me or couldn’t look at me.” Elliot crossed his skinny arms over his chest and set his jaw.

  Bruiser changed tactics to tough love. “Get used to it. Be strong and stare right back. Don’t let anyone keep you from living your life. Give people a chance to get to know you. In fact, give them a reason to want to look deeper.”

  The kid studied him with an intensity that was unnerving. “Is that what you do?”

  Well, crap. Honesty would destroy the point Bruiser was trying to make, while dishonesty would confuse the kid because obviously Bruiser did superficial really well. “Hey, we’re not talking about me.”

  “Cop-out.” Elliot threw Bruiser’s own words back in his face. “You don’t like talking about stuff, letting people see you beyond football and all those underwear ads.”

  Out of the mouths of babes. Bruiser searched for one of his usual quick-witted answers to deflect personal questions. Standing, he leaned against the windowsill and put on his casual face. “You don’t think I’m a good example?”

  No one had ever been that bluntly honest to Bruiser before, not like this sixty-year-old in an eleven-year-old body. Hell, Bruiser didn’t break the law, do drugs, or cause any kind of scandal to the team. He just did his thing and did it well. Sure, he lent his face and body to more endorsements than he could recall, but all the money went to a good cause, along with a good portion of his salary.

  “Do you think you are? You’re physically perfect, and you don’t let anyone see inside. Why should I? I’d trade my brains for your looks any day. It’s easy for you to spout this crap when you don’t have to deal with people staring at you in horror or hugging their kids close as if you’re a danger to them.”