Draw Play: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 4)

by Jami Davenport

  “After he died, the Kennedy patriarch turned to his next oldest son to be the president.”

  Bruiser nodded, the vise gripping his chest making it impossible to speak. He clenched his jaw and stared at his line dangling in the water and bobbing with each wave. Water slapped against the boat’s fiberglass hull—usually a soothing sound, but right now it grated on his nerves.

  “And Brice is gone too?”

  Bruiser couldn’t say the words. Even after all the years, he couldn’t describe his complete devastation when he found Brice with a bullet hole in his head. Brice—the perfect brother, son, friend, athlete—couldn’t live with his imperfections after the accident. A selfish way to go, leaving his friends and family to blame themselves—they hadn’t done enough, hadn’t seen his depression, hadn’t been able to prevent his suicide.

  The guilt lived inside Bruiser like a vital organ.

  “I’m sorry. I guess you do know what it’s like to be second-string.”

  Bruiser bit his lower lip and said nothing. He reeled in his line, re-baited it, and cast it back out. Yeah, he did, and he still played second string—to a ghost. Shaking off his melancholy, he raised his head, changing the focus back to his friend. “You need to get together with Mac.”

  “I guess.” Brett’s reluctance didn’t surprise Bruiser. After all, the guy seemed pretty shy around women, which bordered on next to incredible for an NFL player, but Bruiser had seen Brett in action—or maybe inaction was a better word.

  Brett and Mac. Any dating site would pair those two up in an instant. No one in their right mind would pair Bruiser with Mac. On so many levels, his attraction to her was so wrong. First of all, Bruiser was too damaged. He hid it all behind his fake smile and party-boy persona. Secondly, Brett was better suited for Mac. He’d be loyal, faithful, devoted, and he’d love her like—

  Shit. Bruiser didn’t deal in love; he dealt in lust. Mac deserved a man who’d treat her like she was special, and Brett deserved a woman who’d do the same. If Bruiser was smart and a decent guy, he’d fix Brett and Mac up, call it good, and move on.

  Perfect idea.

  Now where to start—even if part of him didn’t want to?

  * * * * *

  Mac looked up as Bruiser stopped in front of the picnic table where she was eating her lunch. “Hi.”

  “Hey, beautiful, what’s up?” He pointed at the stack of papers in front of her.

  Mac rolled her eyes. “These are the forms for the scholarship.”

  “Paper? Who does paper anymore?”

  “I think it’s a test of our commitment. We have to do it all from scratch, no cutting and pasting from similar forms we’ve filled out.”

  “Leave it to Veronica. So you’re going for it?” Bruiser smiled that lopsided smile that made his blue-gray eyes twinkle and her heart thump a little harder. His perfect white teeth contrasted with his dark tan and blond hair. Mac swore he looked better every time she saw him, maybe because as she got to know the man inside, she liked him even more. It’d be so much better for her if she didn’t.

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Good luck. You deserve it. If I got a vote, you’d be in.” He put one foot on the bench and re-tied his shoe. Even his ankles and feet were sexy.

  Mac looked down, oddly embarrassed. When she glanced up again, he was studying her.

  “Did you change something?” he asked.

  “No, nothing.” She blushed, surprised he noticed. She’d applied makeup this morning, put her hair in a tidy ponytail, tucked in her polo shirt, and wore a clean new pair of jeans. Stupid, because she’d just get everything dirty, but hopefully the decision-makers would notice. Vince always looked neat and tidy because he barely did a stitch of work, but she didn’t expect Veronica to be astute enough to figure that one out.

  Bruiser continued to stare at her like he’d never seen her before. She knew she looked better than usual for work, but not as good as Saturday night. Her clothes did fit better, the highlights his sister put in her hair made the strands glow like bars of gold, and the subtle makeup Kelsie taught her to apply made her eyes bigger and cheekbones higher—or so Kelsie claimed. Yet Bruiser looked at her almost as if he didn’t like what he saw.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head as if coming out of a trance, but Mac wasn’t the type of woman who put men into trances, even momentary ones. Her lovesick imagination must be playing games with her.

  “So, I was wondering…” He hesitated, as if the words didn’t come easily.

  “Yes?” Her heart leapt to conclusions and her head followed.

  “I have tickets to the Mariners behind home plate tomorrow night.”

  “I’d love to see the Mariners.” She spoke too fast, sounding way too much like a desperate woman. Even if she was one.

  Bruiser frowned, the action wrinkling his forehead. Damn if even his forehead wasn’t sexy. “Oh, good. I, uh, I wondered if you’d be interested in a double date.”

  “A double date?” Mac frowned and looked down at her sandwich.

  “Uh, yes. I’m taking Veronica’s cousin as a favor to her, and you’d be going with Brett.”

  Brett? This was about Brett? Not her and Bruiser? Mac swallowed and forced a smile. “I’d love to go with Brett.” Fighting her disappointment, she met those smoky eyes with her own steady gaze.

  “You would?” He seemed incredulous.

  “Sure, but why doesn’t he ask me himself?”

  “Brett’s a little shy around women.”

  “That’s a shame. A nice guy like him.” Her heart sank to her toes. She should be excited about the opportunity to date Brett. Her crush on Bruiser had gotten worse, and Brett might be just what she needed to squash her ridiculous fantasy—nice, good-looking guy and all. Any woman would be thrilled to date him.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I’m in.” She smiled widely even though it pained her to do so.

  A date. Her first in a few years.

  Only with the wrong man.

  * * * * *

  After the game, the two couples went to a trendy waterfront restaurant. Bruiser’s attempts to enjoy the evening crashed and burned in a mushroom cloud of smoke and debris. Holly, his date of the evening, kept yawning and casting glares around the table while rubbing Bruiser’s thigh. Any other time, he’d be sporting a large boner, but tonight he couldn’t get beyond several misaligned thoughts banging in his head.

  Mac looked damn good—not fake, model good, but real, genuine female good. Like a woman a man could get dirty with and love every minute. A woman who wouldn’t empty his bank account buying shoes but would actually fight him over who mowed the lawn. Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders in golden waves, and he wanted to bury his fingers in that thick mane while he lost himself deep inside her.

  Fuck.

  She tilted her head in the cutest damn way and smiled at Brett, while his buddy grinned back at her, looking happier than Bruiser had ever seen him. Which made Bruiser feel like an even bigger bastard for coveting Mac and envying Brett.

  The happy couple put their heads together, giggling like school kids. Hell, they’d been doing that all night. Bruiser couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their secrecy pissed him off until he couldn’t see beyond the red haze in front of his eyes.

  Not being the center of Bruiser’s attention, Holly stuck out her Botoxed lower lip and pouted. Bruiser forced a smile in her direction. She glared back at him. Funny how the woman didn’t look the least bit attractive with a scowl on her face. Pure bitch, even though attitude had never bothered him before. After all, who cared about personality when a woman was hot in and out of bed? Only right now, like an idiot, he was caring.

  “Let’s go, Bruiser. I’m bored.” Holly tugged on his arm.

  Bruiser didn’t even glance at her. “I’ll call you a cab.” Okay, now he was being an inattentive, rude bastard. Sometimes he didn’t like himself very much. He hated superficial p
eople, yet he was the most superficial person he knew. Or at least he walked the walk.

  “Fine.” Now his date slipped into full-assed pout, and there was no reclaiming the evening. She got up in a huff and stomped off. Bruiser trotted after her, full of hollow apologies.

  They waited in silence for her cab. He paid the cabbie then leaned in to where she sat in the back seat. “I’ll call you.”

  “Don’t bother, you fuckhead. Obviously, you’ve lost your eyesight, but I haven’t. I can’t believe you’d prefer someone like that over me.”

  Bruiser opened his mouth to rip her a new one and defend Mac, then shut it. Shit, was it that obvious? He needed to get a grip. “Well then, goodbye.” He watched the cab drive off into the night.

  Good riddance.

  He really was a shallow asshole.

  Head down, Bruiser slipped back into the restaurant. Mac and Brett looked in his direction as if they’d just noticed he’d left, which made him feel even more miserable. He should be happy for Mac and for his buddy, but he wasn’t, not one damn, selfish bit.

  “Where’d you go?” Brett looked beyond him. “Where’s Holly?”

  “Not feeling well. I got her a cab home.” Bruiser slid into the booth across from them.

  “Oh.” Brett and Mac exchanged glances like two co-conspirators.

  The silence settled over them, and Bruiser squirmed. He was the odd man out. With a grim smile, he stood. “I guess I’ll be going too.”

  They both nodded. No arguments from either one of them.

  Bruiser threw a hundred on the table to cover dinner and drinks, nodded at his two friends, and left, skulking out the door like a hound with his tail between his legs.

  He jumped in his car and screamed out of the parking garage, hopping onto I-5, then I-90, across Lake Washington to his townhouse. Minutes later, he sat on his deck and stared out across the water, sipping on a beer.

  His cell rang, and he grabbed for it, half expecting it to be Mac or Brett. Maybe they’d gotten in a fight, and Mac needed a ride home. He jabbed the Answer button with his thumb, ignoring the caller ID. “Yeah?”

  “Well, if it isn’t my absentee son.”

  Bruiser cringed. “Uh, hi, Mom.”

  “Oh, so you do remember that you have a mother.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He didn’t quite know what else to say. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  “With the sweet little blonde we prettied up a few weeks ago?” His mother sounded hopeful—way too hopeful. Depending on his next words, she’d be picking out silverware patterns, a china set, and knitting pink and purple baby booties—if she had a clue how to knit.

  “No, she’s, uh, seeing someone else.” Or she would be after tonight, thanks to him. The thought of Mac naked and sweaty in bed with Brett tied his stomach in bigger knots than his first play on Monday Night Football as a rookie.

  “What’d you do to screw it up this time, Bruce?”

  “I didn’t do anything. We’re just friends, that’s all.”

  “Humph. It’s time you settled down with some nice girl like her, not all these plastic bitches you date.” His mother’s disappointment came through loud and clear, but he couldn’t make her happy any more than he had his father. Well, at least not for long, though she’d certainly loved it when he’d bought her and Shanna that beauty salon, setting them up across Puget Sound from Seattle. Unfortunately, an hour’s ferry ride hadn’t been far enough away. At least they didn’t insist on attending his games.

  “I’m never settling down again, not ever. I don’t need marriage, and I sure as hell don’t want kids.”

  “You’re being stubborn just to piss off an old woman.”

  “You’re hardly old. And I’m not doing it to piss you off. But you haven’t exactly given me a reason to see marriage in a good light.” Even so, he’d given marriage a shot, and his ex-wife had fucked him over big-time, proving marriage was nothing but bullshit.

  “Well.” She huffed. He pictured her crossing her arms over her ample chest and glaring at the phone. “I hardly think that’s necessary. What’s happened to you, Bruce? Fame has gone to your head.”

  “Yeah, Mom, it sure has.” His fame and obsession with earning money was what kept her and Shanna in hair dye and fingernail polish and allowed them to work only three days a week.

  “I want you to come to dinner on Sunday.”

  “I can’t, I have to—” He hesitated, searching for an excuse.

  His mother jumped on his hesitation before he could get another word in. “Two o’clock sharp. And I’ve invited Mackenzie, too, so you might as well offer her a ride like a gentleman.”

  “But, Mom.”

  No one was on the other end to hear his protests.

  Chapter 9—Rocking the Ferry

  Once Bruiser left, Mac and Brett’s easy banter became stilted. With chaperones present, she’d talked with Brett like a co-conspirator, a brother-in-arms. Once alone, her tongue climbed to the roof of her mouth and refused to come down. Her brain sputtered to a stop, and their fun night ground to a screeching halt. Nothing like the night she’d been with Bruiser.

  Finally, the two of them left the restaurant.

  Brett drove Mac home and got out of the car and walked her to her door. Mac tried to see the place through his eyes, with its wisteria arbor over the picket-fence gate, cute little red shutters, and a welcoming porch with hanging baskets of healthy, happy flowers, courtesy of her green thumb.

  “I love your place. It’s really homey.” He smiled nervously, his hands clasped in front of him.

  “Thank you.” She managed a half smile.

  Brett stared at her. His intent expression telegraphed his desire to take this relationship to the next level. Turning her back on Brett, Mac fumbled with the key in the lock. Finally, she managed to unlock the door and push it open. Brett’s hands gently gripped her shoulders, and he turned her around to face him. His pale blue eyes shone with hope and uncertainty, and her heart went out to him.

  “I had a good time tonight.” He smiled at her, a nice-guy smile, not a naughty-boy smile like Bruiser’s.

  “So did I.” She did have a good time, sorta, but not in the way Brett intended. She liked Brett. Once he came out of his shell, he had a quick, wry humor and sharp intellect, which she found fun but not exactly exciting.

  He tilted his head, lowering it toward her face. His gaze settled on her lips. Mac backed up across the threshold. “I’m really tired, Brett.”

  His face fell, the corners of his mouth tipped down, and his arms dropped to his sides. She was the worst kind of bitch for rejecting his kiss, but she’d be a bigger bitch if she led him on. The chemistry just wasn’t there.

  Why was the heart so fickle? Well, maybe not the heart; it might actually be lower than that. Whatever it was, though her head insisted Brett would be an excellent catch, her body wasn’t in the game. In fact, it’d gone back to the locker room and was taking a cold shower.

  “Okay, well, good night then.” He shuffled backward a few steps.

  “Brett, you’re a great guy.”

  “Would you like to do something again?” He perked up slightly.

  “Uh, sure.” Now why the hell did she say yes when she didn’t see this going anywhere? Because she was a sucker for a sad smile, and Brett had the saddest smile she’d ever seen.

  “Great. I’ll call you.”

  “Sounds good.” Mac shut the door and leaned against it, hating herself for wanting Bruiser and giving Brett false hope. She rubbed her hands over her face, weary and tired yet wide awake.

  She wanted a life. A normal life. Mac never stood up for herself and her needs and wants. She’d spent three years living in the past, hunting for answers she might never get. What if she went missing tomorrow? Could she say she’d lived her life to the fullest like Will had?

  Would Will applaud her choices or chastise her for not following her dreams?

  The answer to that question hit way too close to the heart of t
he matter.

  * * * * *

  Bruiser dreaded his mother’s dinners. Not only was Eunice a barely passable cook, but his sister craved drama more than a reality show producer. Add to that an hour ferry ride both ways alone in a car with Mac, and it was a recipe for pure torture.

  He needed to make something happen before training camp because images of Mac really fucked with his sleep. Running it off every morning and evening didn’t help either. If anything, the exercise honed his edge instead of filing it down. Pulling into Mac’s driveway, he hadn’t even put his SUV in park when Mac bounded out the door, blonde hair streaming behind her and a purse slung over her shoulder. She was settled in the seat before he could get out to open the car door for her. God, she looked like heaven with a heavy dose of sin on top.

  “Thanks for giving me a ride.” She smiled at him, one of those pure heartwarming smiles. He found himself smiling back. She’d turned him into a sorry-assed sap eager for any crumb of her attention.

  “It’d be pointless for both of us to drive.” Bruiser took in her little top and skirt, along with the makeup. She looked damn cute. Sexy as hell.

  “My, aren’t we grumpy this afternoon. What’s got your boxers in a wad?”

  “I’m always like this when I’m about to visit my family.” Which was the truth.

  “I like your family. They’re a hoot.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because they aren’t related to you.” Bruiser headed for downtown Seattle across the floating bridge.

  “What’s your problem with them?” Talk about getting to the point. He liked and hated that about Mac.

  “They’re just pains in my ass. They bitch at me all the time, try to control me, make demands of me.”

  “Are you the baby?”

  “Yeah, what was your first clue? Other than they treat me like one.” Except when they wanted his money. “Sometimes I wish they’d just go away and leave me alone.”

  “Don’t ever say that. You never know when you won’t have them around anymore.” Mac swallowed and made this little hiccupping sound. Bruiser felt like a shit because he was one.

  “Hey, that was an asshole thing for me to say, and I’m sorry. I don’t want them to go away; I just want them to lay off.”