Hot Read: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 5)

by Jami Davenport

  Richard tried to ignore them. “Golf with me.”

  “I’m going to the game. Let’s meet for dinner afterward.”

  “I have plans.” Richard’s lips tightened into a thin line. She braced herself for one of his passive-aggressive guilt trips, only he squared his jaw, turned on his heel with a dramatic flair, and stomped off. And could that man stomp.

  With a heavy sigh, Estie closed the door and knelt down to hug her furry friends. Dozer ran his slobbery tongue across her cheek and panted in her face with his doggy breath. Marilyn pressed against her side and almost knocked her over. They gave her comfort, the kind of comfort she’d once received from Richard, though he’d never been the demonstrative type.

  Not like other men. Not like… Her thoughts detoured to a pair of pale-blue eyes and a kind smile. Brett. She’d been thinking about him more and more. In fact, too much for an engaged woman. He was just so nice and kind.

  The day her father died, her world had collapsed, burying all her dreams. She’d been Daddy’s girl, and he’d been the only member of the family who’d truly believed in her.

  He’d died tragically when she’d been in college, taking with him her rock and her support. She’d spiraled into a well of grief and despair. Richard swooped in and picked up the pieces. He’d been there every step of the way, holding her hand, helping her mother make arrangements, and dragging her grieving brother out of bars in the middle of the night. As Estie stumbled blindly through the next several months, he steered her through the despair and never judged her.

  She’d been a strong-willed woman before her father’s death, but she’d fallen apart afterward, and Richard had become the strong one for a time. She couldn’t have made it without him.

  She owed him her loyalty.

  Estie settled into her seat in the owner’s skybox. Binoculars in hand, she lifted them to her face and scanned the team doing warm-ups on the field below. She spotted Brett instantly. Even though he was shorter than everyone but the kickers, he was actually easy to find. He stood in the front of the group as they went through their pregame stretches in the same place Tyler used to stand. She felt a twinge of sympathy for her competitive brother, who had to hate not being in the game.

  And why the hell was she even seeking out Brett?

  Her formidable older sister slid into the seat next to her, a flurry of Steelheads navy parka and expensive perfume. Fredrika “Freddie” Harris tossed her coat over an empty chair and sank into the plush seat. She glanced around. “Where’s Veronica?”

  “Not here yet. Neither is Mr. Sims.” The billionaire Sims owned the team, and his daughter Veronica managed personnel. Most people considered Veronica even scarier than Freddie, but Estie considered it a toss-up.

  Estie lifted her binoculars, ignoring her sister. Even though Estie preferred to watch the game in the seats a few rows up from the field, Freddie loved her luxury, and Freddie always got her way. As the middle child, Estie grew up in the unenviable position of trying to please both of her strong-willed, selfish siblings, and she still played that role, even though she came across as the same type of badass as her sister to most outsiders.

  Freddie heaved several annoyed sighs, and Estie lowered her binoculars. Her sister hated it when she wasn’t the focus of everyone’s attention. “How’s Ty?”

  Freddie snorted and rolled her eyes. “Pissed as hell, restless, and just being a total shit. Lavender gave him a painkiller, which knocked him out for a while, so I decided to come to the game.”

  “When is he going to put a ring on her finger?”

  “Good question. If he doesn’t do something about it soon, I’ll have to kick his ass, or even better, his damaged knee.”

  “I’ll help. You and I are brutal together.”

  “Don’t you forget it, little sis.” Freddie grinned and tossed her glossy, long dark hair off her shoulders. People said they looked like twins, but Freddie’s beauty turned every head in the room.

  Richard was one of Freddie’s rejects, not that Freddie kept any man for long. She was almost as bad as their brother B.L.—Before Lavender. A real heartbreaker, that was her sister. And while she was breaking their hearts, she busted their balls as well. Nothing soft and sweet about Fredrika Harris.

  Hell, was there anything soft and sweet about any of the Harris kids? They’d been raised to be strong, smart, and ambitious, and so they were, each in their own way, and almost to the exclusion of not taking the time to enjoy the journey. Or so Estie believed. Yet they swept her along in their maniacal quest to conquer the next proverbial mountain. She’d been tagging along after them for so long she rarely thought to question it.

  “Well, crap.” Freddie slammed her fist into the armrest, effectively jerking Estie back to the stadium. “That idiot, couldn’t they do better than him for a backup?”

  Brett walked off the field, fists clenched, frustration written in every stiff movement, while the Giants danced on his grave in the end zone.

  “What happened?”

  “He threw another interception. Haven’t you been watching? Or are you too caught up in your wedding plans?”

  Estie rolled her eyes, unable to help herself. “Something like that.” She avoided Freddie’s dissecting gaze and hid her eyes behind the binocs. Brett stood on the sideline consulting with the coaches, nodding and grimacing. His determined expression reminded her a bit of a quarterback brother of hers. No quit in Tyler and no quit in Brett either, even if he did get a little beaten down. Now if only the coaches could infuse some of Tyler’s blind luck into Brett.

  Freddie continued to mumble and cuss under her breath about Brett, while Estie gritted her teeth and held her tongue, ready to jump to Brett’s defense even though she wasn’t sure why. Halftime came and went with a seven-seven tie. Nothing much happened until Bruiser fumbled the ball on the Steelheads’ twenty-two, the Giants recovered, and scored on the next drive.

  Seven-fourteen.

  “Gunnels is so short he can’t see over his line,” Freddie bitched as Brett took a particularly nasty sack.

  “His line isn’t in sync with him. They don’t know what to expect like they did with Ty. They’ll figure it out,” Estie shot back as she grabbed a napkin and wiped the sweat ring from her drink off the small table in front of her. She folded the used napkin into a tidy little square and placed it under the glass.

  “Are you blind? They can’t hold the Giants off all day. He’s taking too long and not finding the open receiver.”

  “Brett’s doing as good a job as can be expected. He didn’t have the luxury of weeks of training camp to get in sync with his guys. It takes time, and he’ll get there. He’s determined, and he has what it takes.” She ignored her sister’s dissecting gaze. As Estie spoke, a Giants linebacker flushed Brett out of the pocket and sacked him for another big loss.

  And it didn’t get much better after that.

  The Steelheads lost twenty-four to seven. Their record was now nine and five. One more loss, and it’d be tough for them to win the division or get home-field advantage, leaving them battling for a wild-card berth.

  After the game, Estie shook off her sister and wandered down to the locker room, slipping past security because she was Tyler’s sister. She told herself she was only doing it to update Ty’s teammates, but who was she fooling?

  One by one, the guys left the locker room, pausing to chat with her about Ty. Several promised to stop by and see him. She’d just about given up when Brett came out of the locker room, his sandy-brown hair wet from a recent shower and a grim expression plastered on his face.

  “Hey,” she said, stepping from the shadows.

  He glanced up, and surprise crossed his features, then a smile. A very happy smile. “Hey.”

  Estie found herself smiling back. “Rough game.” What else did you say to a guy whose quarterback rating looked more like an arctic temperature?

  “Yeah, pretty rough. We’ll figure it out.”

  “You’re doing the best
you can. You haven’t played since preseason, and my brother’s been the ironman of the NFL, so it’s not like you get many chances.”

  Brett rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. “Yeah, I know. I have to get better, quit making rookie mistakes like missing my reads, not seeing open men, screwing up a handoff.”

  Estie touched his arm, a gesture meant to comfort, but instead it shot a shock of electricity through her body, a hyperawareness of the very male man standing next to her. Their eyes met, held, and for a moment, time stopped, the world fell away, and left only the two of them.

  If they’d been standing in the middle of I-5 during rush hour, she wouldn’t have noticed the cars zipping by or honking at them.

  She sensed his steel hiding under a thin layer of frustration. It was weird, this connection, like a thin piece of thread, so easy to break, so tenuous, yet so there.

  Estie took a step back and broke the thread. She blinked several times in an attempt to process what just happened. She was practical, not given to romance or nonsense. Brett looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, a habit she’d noticed when he seemed nervous or contemplating something.

  “How about we forget football for a while and get something to eat? I’m starved, and I bet you are too.” Estie said the last words in a rush because if she paused for a breath it’d give her time to think about how stupid she was for asking.

  Brett hesitated for a split second. “Sounds great.” His crooked smile nudged at her heart. “I’d like that.”

  Oh, so would she. So would she.

  Brett followed Estie into a dark, little Italian restaurant several streets up from Seattle’s waterfront. After holding the door open for her, he paused inside and glanced around the room for any angry Steelheads fans who might ruin the one good thing about this day—being with Estie.

  An older couple enjoying a glass of wine sat at the only occupied table. The lone waiter ushered them to an intimate table in the back. Around the cozy room, candles flickered, making it way too romantic for a couple who should be anything but.

  They consulted and agreed on a bottle of wine and, as was becoming par for the course, found they loved the same type. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It was like God made this woman for him. Only he couldn’t have her. Look but don’t touch. Damn, it was tough. Not only was he doing a lot of looking, but his imagination was running wild when it came to touching. Even her hands were sexy with those pink nails.

  She almost made him forget about his shitty game.

  Oh, God, but now that he remembered, even Estie’s beautiful face couldn’t completely negate the rest of his day.

  Brett stared hard at the menu without seeing it. He’d get his life figured out, starting with football—because right now all that could matter to him was football. He’d spent too much time this past week with his mind elsewhere, and today’s game reflected his misplaced priorities. He had a shot, a shot to prove them all wrong, a shot to show the NFL what he could do given the chance, and today he’d taken that chance and shot himself in the foot.

  “Brett?”

  He glanced up and stared into those sapphire-blue eyes. Her concerned gaze flipped a switch inside him, turning off his ability to keep his distance. “Yes?”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He frowned, feeling like he’d missed the point of this conversation. “About what?”

  “The game.” She sipped her wine and studied him over the rim of the glass.

  “Not much to talk about other than I have some work to do.” Now there was an understatement.

  “You had some good moments. Trust me, I know football.”

  That he didn’t doubt. After all, she was Harris’s sister. “And those would be?”

  “You’re staying in the pocket the majority of the time, not getting flushed out too soon. You played one of the top five defenses, and your receivers had a hell of a time getting open.” She leaned on the table, candlelight flickering across her face.

  God, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Her eyes lit up as she talked about the game he loved, hitting home to him one more thing they had in common.

  “I’m not blaming my performance on my receivers.”

  “I’m not telling you to do that, but don’t take it all on your shoulders.”

  “I’m the quarterback. It’s all on me. Ask your brother.”

  “Well, my brother has an ego bigger than it should be. Stuff rolls off him.”

  “Sometimes I wish I could do that. Building relationships and timing takes time, and that’s one thing I don’t have. The guys are trying their damnedest to help me, almost too much. They’re overcompensating for my lack of experience by trying too hard, which makes them tight. When you’re not relaxed, you miss things, make mistakes.”

  “Lead by example: relax yourself, and they’ll follow.” She reached for his hands and twined her fingers with his, soft and warm, her voice passionate.

  Brett held on to her and nodded. She had a point.

  He gazed into her eyes, saw the fire there, that same fire he’d seen in her brother’s eyes when the odds were stacked against him, and Tyler wouldn’t ever let that stop him. Only her fire was for him, as if she could walk on that field and play that game for him.

  Brett needed to find his own fire, that same fire that had kept him alive in the Middle East yet still eluded him on the football field. Until his teammates saw that he had it, they’d never trust him to be that guy.

  He stared at their fingers intertwined, her soft flesh against his calloused skin, loving the feel of her hands in his, loving how she squeezed his hands tight as if she could transfer confidence through their linked hands into his head and his heart.

  “You’re still listening to them, aren’t you?” Estie’s gaze cut through all the bullshit and burrowed right into his soul.

  “Them?”

  “Yeah, all those people who said you’re too short, and you’ll never make it, not NFL caliber. Prove them wrong. Prove yourself wrong.”

  Brett smiled. “Have you been doing this long?”

  “What?”

  “Cheerleading. If I had sisters like you, I’d have a completely different attitude.”

  “You wouldn’t want a sister like me. Trust me.” Estie laughed.

  Her laugh warmed his heart and lit up the darkness inside him.

  Suddenly, her face colored and she pulled her hands away, as if she’d just realized they’d been holding hands. “Sorry, sometimes I get carried away with my passion.”

  Oh, God, he’d love to see her carried away with passion, naked, and in his bed. His dick hardened almost painfully, and he bit back a groan. They were friends. Nothing more. He needed a safe subject, needed time to process everything, not just about her, but football too. He switched the subject to animals. “So, about this Yappy Hour charity thing you have planned.”

  “Why don’t we save that for Tuesday? Remember, I’m buying pizza.”

  “You’re not going to buy one of those girlie pizzas with chicken and weird stuff that should never be on a pizza, are you?”

  “Not me. I’m a traditionalist. Mostly. Half ham and pineapple for me and half pepperoni?”

  “Yeah that works for me.” Anything would work for Brett that involved more time with her, stupid as it was, but then he’d never been overly intelligent when it came to beautiful women. “So why aren’t you with your fiancé tonight?” Brett pointed at her ring finger.

  “Oh, him.” Her smile dropped off her face. She tensed and closed him off as if she’d tapped a garage door remote and shut him outside.

  “Yeah, him.” Brett hated asking, knew it was none of his business, but couldn’t stop himself.

  “He’s a big golfer, and I hate golf. I went to the game, and he went golfing.”

  “Not a football fan, I take it?”

  “No, not at all. He was never raised around sports. He’s much better with his mind than his body.” She rushed to defend him, seemed to realize
how her words sounded, and immediately her face flushed.

  Brett wanted to be better with his body and his mind. “You must have other things in common then?”

  Estie frowned and sloshed her wine around in the glass, studying the candlelight reflecting off the glass surface. “We’ve been friends since college.”

  She looked up at him, and his heart stopped. Something in her expression telegraphed resignation to him.

  “He’s stood by me through every twist and turn in my life. He’s loyal, and we get along fine.”

  “Sounds like you’re talking about a dog,” Brett blurted out. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

  She waved her hand in the air. “It’s okay. I suppose it did sound like I was describing my relationship with a dog.”

  He’d pushed her too far, asked too many questions. Brett decided to get his footing back on safer ground. “Tell me about your work with the animal rescue.”

  Her smile came back full wattage, illuminating those blue eyes. She reached for a piece of garlic bread. “I grew up with animals. They weren’t just pets, they were family. All of us loved animals, from horses to dogs to cats—though Tyler is a recent convert in that area.”

  “Your brother likes cats?” Now that was fucking hard to imagine.

  “You’ve never been to his condo, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t.” Not that he hadn’t been invited a time or two, but he avoided Harris in social situations.

  “He has an orange tabby that owns the place.” Amusement twinkled in Estie’s eyes.

  “Tyler has a cat?” Brett had never seen this side of the asshole quarterback, but the guy couldn’t be half bad if he loved animals as much as Estie claimed.

  “Oh, yeah, and once he moves out of that condo, I’ve no doubt he’ll have dogs too. Lavender loves animals, so she fits right in with the rest of us.”

  Unfortunately, Brett thought he fit in pretty well too. “I would’ve never guessed Tyler liked animals.”