Making the Play

by T. J. Kline

  Bethany stood on her toes, pressing her mouth to his, surprising him with her sweet kiss. Wrapping her hands around the nape of his neck, she pulled him down toward her, insistent, stronger than he’d imagined someone so petite could be, and his arms circled around her back, lifting her higher. She opened to him, letting him explore and taste. Grant caught her quiet whimper on his breath as he turned, pressing her against the wall, hungry for more. She clung to him, arching into his body, as needy as he was. His hands skimmed the hem of her shirt, his fingers touching the bare skin beneath and she sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall.

  As his lips found her jaw, pressing hot kisses over the delicate curve of her neck, his hand felt the slight indentations of her ribs. Moving higher, his hand cupped the soft mound of her breast and Bethany whimpered, her back arching, pressing it fully into his palm. His entire body seemed to tense as he fought to maintain some small semblance of control, but he knew he was losing the battle. He slid one hand over her rear and her entire body seemed to answer his, molding against him, as if they were made to fit together seamlessly.

  “Grant,” she whispered on a sigh.

  “Hey, bro, are you out here? You’ve got a call. It’s your agent,” Jackson yelled from the back of the bunkhouse.

  Grant froze, his palm filled with the flesh of her breast, as they both gasped for air, trying to catch their breath. Grant looked down into her face and could see the redness along her jaw from where his stubble had scraped her sensitive skin. Her lips were swollen and pink from his kisses. He could still taste her and, like a drug, it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

  “Grant?” Jackson called again, this time closer.

  He knew they would be caught in a moment and moved his hand from under her shirt, but was unable to move away from her without pressing one last quick kiss to her lips. “You make me forget. That’s dangerous.”

  “Grant?” Jackson’s footsteps were just outside the barn and Grant stepped in front of Bethany, shielding her from his brother’s view. One look at her would be enough for any of his too observant brothers to know what they’d been doing. The thought of doing it again was enough to force him to adjust his jeans.

  “I’ll be right there, Jackson.” The footsteps stopped. “Tell him that I’ll call him right back.”

  “You got it.” Grant was grateful for the unspoken communication he had with his brothers.

  Bethany’s hand slid along one side of his spine, tracing the curve of the muscles in his back. He felt his body respond to her touch with a shiver of hungry desire and nearly groaned aloud at the pure, enticing pleasure of her touch. Her hands circled his waist from behind and he covered them with his own, looking back at her over his shoulder. “I’m beginning to wonder if you don’t like living dangerously.”

  “You’re a terrible influence on me, Mr. McQuaid. First horseback riding and now making out in a barn. What would my father say?” she teased, her eyes shimmering with humor.

  He’d remind me that I gave my word not to hurt you.

  If there was one thing he was, it was a man of his word. Right now, his word was the only certain thing Grant had left.

  GRANT WALKED BACK to the bunkhouse with her hand in his. As much as she didn’t want to let go of him or stop the way his thumb brushed over the pulse racing at her wrist, she couldn’t risk James seeing them this way. She already knew she was risking her own heart, she couldn’t take a chance with James’. Grant wasn’t wrong; they were dangerous for one another.

  “Grant?” She turned toward him before he reached the door and opened her mouth to explain to him why they needed to keep their relationship a secret from James when he put a finger to her lips.

  “I know.” His eyes were dark and shadowed with regret again. “I completely agree that it’s best to keep what happened in the barn between the two of us. It’ll confuse James.”

  Bethany frowned. James wouldn’t be the only one baffled by their relationship. She was present, a willing participant, and still thoroughly confused as to where she stood, or what either of them really wanted from one another.

  “Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner? We were just about to throw burgers on the grill.”

  She looked at the door, picturing her son playing video games inside. “It’s a school night and you have a phone call to make to your agent,” she reminded him.

  His eyes clouded even more and she wondered what she’d said to upset him. He looked like he was lost in his thoughts for a moment. Suddenly his expression cleared and he gave her a lopsided grin, that dimple cutting into his cheek and making her heart beat heavily and the lower regions of her body throb.

  “What about dinner tomorrow? I’ll meet you at your house and we can have a movie night.”

  “I’ll have some work to take home.”

  He arched a brow. “Ms. Mills, are you trying to let me down easy?”

  “No!” She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “I just . . .” She took a step toward him and let her fingers fall against his t-­shirt, feeling the washboard abs tense underneath. Her eyes lifted to his, searching for the answer to the question she so desperately needed to ask. “What are we doing?”

  Grant slid his arms around her waist and smiled down at her. The tenderness in his eyes made her want to settle into his embrace and remain there forever. “I know you’re out of practice but this, Ms. Mills, is me asking you and James out on a date.” He dropped a kiss to her nose. “A real date this time.”

  “What about the reporter following you?”

  “He’s going to have to find something better to write about for Wednesday’s paper because I’m going undercover. Nothing is going to mar our date. There won’t be any evidence, I promise.”

  GRANT WATCHED AS Bethany and James made their way down the driveway in her sedan, which kicked up dust behind it. As much as he understood her need to get James home, he missed the two of them already, and that feeling worried him as he walked back into the bunkhouse. He’d spent so many years fixated only on his career that the thought of straying from that single-­minded focus was overwhelming. Grant shook his head, trying to rid himself of the sappy soundtrack that seemed to be on a constant loop in his brain, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

  “Shit.” Andrew laughed as he reached into the refrigerator and grabbed him a bottle of his latest brew, a bitter IPA Grant hadn’t tried yet. “If that goofy grin on your face is any indication, you’ve got it bad.”

  Grant popped off the cap and took a long swallow. “Shut up.”

  Ben looked over his shoulder at the pair, his hands wrist-­deep in the hamburger mixture he was getting ready to form into patties. “You’re just jealous, Andrew.” His gaze met Grant’s and Ben gave him an impish smile. “I think it’s great, and maybe now Mom will just nag you to get married and leave the rest of us alone.”

  Andrew rolled his eyes as he set a beer on the counter for Ben. “Fat chance. Mom wants grandkids and she’s going to keep at it until she has some. It’s not going to matter which of us it is.”

  Ben shrugged and slapped a ball of meat onto the wax paper lining the cutting board. “Which is another reason Bethany’s good for Grant. She comes with a ready-­made family. It’s a win-­win for all of us.”

  “What the hell, Ben? You’ve already got us walking down the aisle? We haven’t even gone on a date.”

  Ben and Andrew looked at one another before bursting out in raucous laughter. “You’re kidding, right?” Ben asked. Grant frowned at the pair as the twins came in from outside.

  “Fire’s ready. What’s so funny?” They looked from Ben and Andrew to Grant and back.

  “Grant is trying to convince us he’s not dating Bethany.” Andrew made air quotes with his fingers. “Dude, you got a yes from her. That’s more than any other man in this town has come close to.”

  The
twins joined in, laughing with the other two, deepening Grant’s scowl.

  “Screw all four of you.”

  He stormed toward the stairs, ready to head up to his room and forget the evening altogether. He already had enough to worry about. He didn’t need their crap.

  “Whoa, big brother.” Andrew clapped him on the back of the shoulder. “Take it easy. It’s just that you’ve never brought a girl home to meet Mom. Ever.”

  “And I’ve never seen you act this way about a woman before, or look at one the way you do with her. Not even when we were younger.” Ben shrugged. “I mean, it’s not a bad thing. Like I said, she’s great, but we all know you and your one-­track mind. I’ve never seen you take your eyes off the ball, so to speak.”

  “Stop turning this into more than it is. We barely know each other,” Grant pointed out.

  As much as he might be trying to convince his brothers, he couldn’t help but feel like they’d known each other far longer than a week. He and Bethany had connected from the first moment, like something far bigger than coincidence had brought them together.

  Jefferson chuckled. “Like that matters? When it’s right, it’s right.”

  Grant rolled his eyes. “Don’t try to convince me that you four believe in love at first sight? Andrew will date anyone who says yes.”

  Andrew perked up. “I’m not an idiot and who said anything about love?”

  Grant knew he’d just slipped up and given his brothers far too much ammunition to use against him. Thank God his sister and mother hadn’t been here to hear it. They’d have them walking down the aisle next week.

  “Face it, Grant. You can deny it all you want, but we know you.” Ben eyed him seriously for a moment. “When you make up your mind to go after something or, in this case, someone, you don’t waste any time. You just make it happen. You did it with football, you did it when you wanted to leave town and you’re going to do it with Bethany.”

  Grant clenched his jaw. He didn’t like being the object of his brothers’ scrutiny or the butt of their jokes. Andrew grinned at Grant’s wilting glare. “Give me dirty looks all you want. We just call ’em like we see ’em.”

  “Speaking of calls—­” Jackson passed Grant his cell phone from where he’d set it on the counter by the back door “—­don’t forget to call your agent back. It sounded important.”

  “You guys think you know me so well.” Grant took the phone, scrolling through his texts to see if his agent had sent a message as well.

  “Enough that I didn’t barge into the barn,” Jackson teased, waggling his brows at his brother.

  Grant tucked his phone into his back pocket and crossed his arms. “Are you four finished acting like children?”

  Ben snorted and elbowed Jefferson. “Hear that? The man who plays with balls for a living is calling us children.”

  “I’m done,” Grant said, throwing up his hands before heading out the back door again.

  He’d just go have dinner with his parents. At least over there he wouldn’t have to hear the ridiculous jibes about how he was falling for a woman he had no business falling for. The trouble was, he knew his brothers were right.

  “GRANT, IT’S ABOUT time you called back. What the hell is this on my desk?”

  Bob Ribaldi had been Grant’s agent since immediately after his final college game, just before he’d been drafted by the Mustangs. He’d negotiated one of the best contracts a running back had ever received and, thanks to Bob’s savvy business sense, Grant had had the money set aside to invest in both the ranch and Jackson’s breeding program. He just wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing in not consulting Bob first and investing so heavily, far too certain that he could prove the doctors wrong and return to football. Now they would have to discuss the best option for his future.

  “Wolf called me yesterday and told me he was sending over a buyout, regardless of what the doctors reported. Sounds like he wants to cut me loose.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. I got that. I also have a ­couple of low-­ball offers from a few other teams if you’re cleared. Nowhere close to where they need to be to get me in the door for negotiations, but that’s something to decide after your doctor appointment. I’m talking about this offer from the Fox Sports network to be their Sunday commentator.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a contract here from them with a very lucrative offer. Far more than the Mustangs are offering you to babysit their rookies.” The disparagement in Bob’s voice echoed through Grant. He’d been afraid that was exactly what Wolf wanted him to do, regardless of the assurance that, in time, it would turn into a coaching position. “Who did you schmooze at Fox? And why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  Bob sounded as confused as Grant felt. He had no idea who could have even been aware of his precarious position with the Mustangs, to even consider making the offer. Networks didn’t make offers like this based on nothing more than speculation.

  “I’m at a loss. I don’t know anyone.” He wracked his brain trying to remember any connection he might have. “You know me. I keep to myself, keep my nose to the grindstone and just work. I don’t do any schmoozing. I’m not that guy.”

  Bob chuckled. “Sometimes I wish you were. It’d make my job easier. I’ll make some calls, see how legitimate this offer actually is. If it’s as good as it looks on paper, you’d be crazy not to take it.”

  Grant ran a hand through his hair, pacing his bedroom. “What are we talking about here, Bob?”

  “Nearly seven figures the first year and $1.5 million the second. That’s far better than any of the other teams are offering too. Retirement might suddenly look a whole hell of a lot more appealing with that kind of time and money at your disposal.”

  “Where would I be?”

  “I’m sure we could address that in the contract, but most likely you’re looking at moving closer to New York. With that kind of cheese, would it really matter?”

  Not to Bob, not to most players ready to retire. But when he thought of the hazel eyes that had burned with desire for him earlier tonight or the blue eyes of a boy that stared up at him with hero worship, it mattered. It mattered a hell of a lot.

  Chapter Fifteen

  BETHANY COULDN’T WAIT for her day to be finished. Not just because she knew Grant was coming over, but because it had truly been the day from hell. It started off with a bang when one of her students threw up on her as she was helping him tie his shoelace. Luckily, Julie had been able to watch the kids long enough for her to attempt to clean her blouse in the bathroom. At least as much as soap and water could. The stain would probably be a permanent reminder of why she needed to be more careful about letting kids twirl the swings and let them unwind by spinning.

  If that, along with the sour smell she couldn’t quite get out of her hair, weren’t bad enough, she’d dropped her coffee in the teacher’s lounge at first recess and now both thighs of her jeans were tinged brown. She took a deep, cleansing breath and watched the children as they lined up after lunch, trying to ignore the whiff she caught of her hair.

  Only three hours left.

  “I hear you’ve had a rough . . . whoa!” Stephen had been walking toward her and cringed, taking a large step backward as he came within smelling distance.

  Bethany rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks.”

  “Sorry. I guess I didn’t expect that.” He tried to hide his smile while subtly plugging his nose. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a change of clothes and some dry shampoo, would you?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t say that I do. However, I’d love to take you out to dinner tonight to make up for your bad day.”

  She looked at him oddly. Their date a few days ago had been comfortable at best, but it certainly hadn’t set off any seismic shock waves. She’d assumed he’d felt the same thing,
especially after the way it had ended—­with a hug at the door and a promise to see her at work. Granted, it had been a while since she’d dated, but she doubted that was the way good dates ended. In fact, she was pretty optimistic her date with Grant wouldn’t end with anything so tame. Not if their last kiss was any indicator.

  “Oh, I really appreciate that Stephen but, um . . .” She couldn’t quite get her brain to function fast enough to figure out an excuse.

  “Ms. Mills.” Becky ran up and tugged at the side of her jeans. “Jeremiah pushed James because he had the football and James pushed him on the ground.”

  The child instantly had Bethany’s full attention. “What? Where are they?”

  Steven looked at the open field area where the boys tended to play ball. “Over there.” He pointed toward a crowd of kids looking their direction helplessly. “Come on.”

  She ran beside him, the burn in her lungs reminding her that she needed to get back to her workout schedule since she could barely keep up with Steven’s long stride. By the time she reached the boys, Steven was already kneeling on the ground beside Jeremiah, who was howling about his bleeding lip. Several other boys had surrounded them and began to try to slink away as both teachers looked around the group, expectantly.

  “What happened?” Bethany asked, waiting for someone to answer. No one said a word. “I’m going to ask one more time,” she warned.

  “I was playing football and he grabbed it out of my hands and said he wanted to play.” James stepped forward, his head hanging sheepishly. “I just tackled him like Grant and Ben showed me.”

  He chanced a glance at her. As his parent, she could see the sorrow in his eyes, but as his teacher, she couldn’t let him get away with pushing or hitting another student.

  “Mr. Carter, why don’t you take Jeremiah to the nurse’s office? I’ll have Julie take the rest of the students into my room to play a game while I take care of this situation with Mr. Hunt.”

  She saw the fear in her son’s eyes when he realized he was being escorted to the principal’s office. Bethany was torn. She knew her son hadn’t meant any harm to Jeremiah, but he had to learn that he couldn’t go around tackling other kids. She tried to tamp down the anger rising up in her. She’d told Grant she didn’t want him to play football, but not only had he played with him, he’d obviously shown him how to hit hard enough to give a boy twice his size a fat lip.