Protective Instinct

by Tricia Lynne

  I gave my doofus the belly rub he was asking for then went back in. After fixing their dinner, I stripped off my clothes and turned on the hot water in the tub for a nice long shower.

  What a day.

  I wasn’t worried about Dick’s threats. I didn’t care if he cut me out of the will, or off, or whateverthefuck. I lived modestly, within my means. Originally, before my douchebag ex, Trey, cheated, we’d planned to buy a McMansion when he finished his residency. Then I caught him with his sidepiece and threw his shit out of our apartment. Using money I’d saved, I bought this place after I finished my master’s. Trey had harassed me for several years after the split, and he worked for the Bulldogs. Yet another reason to stay away from the Bulldogs altogether, as if Dick and my dad weren’t enough.

  Billy Costello had indeed embraced the pro football lifestyle. I loved my daddy, dearly, but I remembered with absolute clarity the fights with my mom after he’d been on a road trip and she’d found the proverbial lipstick on the collar. How I’d lock myself in my room and listen as dad trashed the house, and then he wouldn’t come home for a few days. Or when he couldn’t get out of bed to come watch my soccer games.

  Slicking my hair with shampoo, I lathered up. I wondered how long it would be before Brody flaked on the mill. I wanted to believe he’d come through like he’d promised, but the reality center of my brain told me he’d ghost.

  Fickle.

  The man was fickle. He had a short attention span. I think he’d had one relationship in his pro career. It was the only time period he’d been photographed with the same woman more than once.

  My body’s reaction to Brody was also highly inconvenient. The few times where he and I chatted at some event or another were always...flirty. Eyes lingered too long on each other. Mouths would get dry while other parts of me ran slick from even the politest conversation. We focused too much on each other. Flowed too easy together. I’d even catch him eyeing me as I spoke with other guests. Yet, at the end of the evening, he always found someone else to leave with. Chemistry was a bitch when the man you wanted most was also the last one you’d sleep with.

  Of course, in the past, we’d always been in public, and our flirts had stayed polite. On the up-and-up.

  Until today.

  Being alone with him in his apartment had set off all kinds of slippery slope warning bells in the back of my brain. Yet, when heat flooded his rich chocolate irises, I could have used a change of panties.

  Turning, I let the hot cascade of water beat on my shoulders to loosen the knots in my neck. The fantasy suite scandal was still making headlines on the regular, too. I mean, the dude had been caught participating in a team orgy. I wasn’t judging. If that was his thing, more power to him, but it was something straight out of an episode of Ballers. I only knew what I’d seen in the news, but at least seven Bulldogs players had been identified in the pictures one of the women sneaked, and Brody was in the thick of things. On top of that, they’d trashed a $20,000-per-night presidential suite.

  No matter how much I wanted to rub my naked self all over his naked self, Brody Shaw was look but don’t touch.

  He was beyond pretty to look at, though.

  I lathered my washcloth, letting the conditioner sit in my hair. God, that guy’s shoulders, and arms. His thighs and butt. The hair and jaw and scruff, the lips and... Gahhh!

  Then there was the gaze when he fell in love with his dog—so soulful, with an unexpected softness and complexity from a guy who could snap a quarterback like a twig. His eyes were totally at odds with the easy-going facade. Brody Shaw had a lot more depth than he wanted people to see.

  Then, there was the intensity on his face when I slipped through the doorway. I’d always wondered what he’d be like in bed. The whole football thing made me think he was likely all rough and raw. But those eyes...they spoke of slow and easy. Rocking back and forth while I straddled his hips, and Sunday mornings under the covers.

  Of course, that was ridiculous. Sundays were for football.

  That thought killed the fantasy fast. It was a good thing, too. Thinking about sleeping with Shaw would only make it harder for me to concentrate around him—coveting what I would never let myself have.

  I considered my handheld showerhead snuggled into its spot below the regular one...sigh.

  Flicking the water to cool, I rinsed my conditioner, and got out before I thought better of it. Mack had pushed the bathroom door open. He was curled up on my bath rug, little nub tail going in circles.

  Mommy’s little monster, that was him.

  I slipped on an old Donnas T-shirt and a clean pair of undies, Monster following me around tight on my heels. Jet was more independent than Mack. She was confident in her place in the world, and that place was on a stack of mattresses. With a pea hidden somewhere in the middle. Mack needed to be closer, to be reassured more often that he was safe and loved. Understandable, given his start. “Hey pally, who’s a good boy, huh?”

  His tongue lolled to the side. That big old smile melted my heart every time. I put on my much deeper Mack voice and answered for him. “Me mama, Iza good boy. Iza the bestest.”

  “Yes, you are.” I smooched the top of his head. “You’re the bestest boy ever.” After kissing his snout, I pulled a comb through my hair. “Guess what, pally. I met a pretty girl today who has a scar on her tummy like yours. Her dad said he’s going to help find the fuckers who did it to you.” I hoped.

  Following me to the spare bedroom-turned-office, he watched as I pulled out the folder I’d stashed in my desk over a year ago. It was time to study it with fresh eyes. Seven dogs with that scar, two that had barely escaped with their lives. Five weren’t so lucky. One with a failed attempt at a slit throat, and my boy with scars from buckshot that had been stuck in his nose, neck, and shoulder.

  Collapsing on the couch, I pulled my legs under me. It was never fun to go down this rabbit hole, but Mack had no voice. I would be the voice he didn’t have. With his head on my hip, and Jet’s fluffy butt brushing my other thigh, I cracked open the file. Nothing killed lady-wood quicker than puppy mill research.

  Sometime later, I woke up on the couch to a text alert. My open laptop was sitting on top of Mack’s snoring body.

  I picked up my phone. Eight thirty p.m. Jesus, I was tired.

  Then, I saw who the text was from. Wide fucking awake.

  Brody: Shit. I left a Hershey bar on the counter for five seconds, and when I turned around it was gone, wrapper and all. CC has foil hanging from her lip. Do I need to take her to the emergency vet?

  Brody sent a picture of the offending counter surfer with Hershey wrapper stuck to her lip. I barked out a laugh.

  Me: First, I didn’t think you guys were allowed to eat stuff like that. Second, don’t panic. Was it dark chocolate?

  Brody: First, off-season. Second, it was milk chocolate.

  Me: She probably doesn’t need to go to the vet but keep your eye on her. Dark chocolate is worse for dogs. Also, CC’s a big girl—it would take a lot of chocolate to poison a dog her size. If she starts acting agitated, has muscle contractions, excess vomiting—then you need to call the vet. Chances are she’ll be fine.

  There was a long pause.

  Brody: What about the wrapper? She swallowed it, too. Do I just wait for her to...you know?

  Talking about dog poop was a way of life for me. I forgot now and then that it made other people uncomfortable.

  Me: It’ll pass. Keep an eye on her poop to make sure she’s going normally. If she gets diarrhea or seems constipated, call your vet. CC is a big dog who produces big piles. Much less chance of her having an issue than a Yorkie.

  When he didn’t answer right away, I plugged in my laptop and put the dogs out for the last time that night. After whistling them back in, I crawled into bed, huddling down in the covers. It was my favorite season in Dallas—that two days bet
ween winter and summer when it was cold at night, but the sun was warm during the day. Spring, that was it. I wished it lasted longer than two days.

  After I patted the bed, both dogs jumped in. Mack bracketed my left side while Jet curled into my ribcage on the right. I was starting to doze when the phone pinged with another text. Sigh. I’d given Brody my number because I knew he’d worry constantly for the next few weeks. I was beginning to think it was a mistake—I couldn’t stop thinking about his handsome ass if he wouldn’t stop texting.

  Brody: I took her out, seems fine. not the least bit bothered, but I feel horrible.

  Me: If it makes you feel better, Mack once ate a sock. I didn’t know until he threw it up on the couch. It wasn’t blue anymore.

  Brody: LMAO! I gotta meet this dude.

  Brody: Our first manners class is in two weeks. Is there anything special I’ll need?

  Me: We have private lessons at the center, if you’d rather? They’ll email you a list of stuff you’ll need for class.

  Brody: Are you offering to give me...private lessons? Why, Ms. Costello, I’m scandalized. ;)

  Me: Did you really just send me a winky emoji?

  Brody: Hey, it wasn’t a dick pic.

  Me: Classy, dude. Real classy.

  Brody: Is anyone else sending you flirty winky emojis or dick pics?

  I felt my eyebrows pull together, but a part of me really, really wanted to go down the flirty text road. Sigh. Time to nip it in the bud.

  Me: First, none of your business, but no. Second, your attention span with women is like a spider monkey on meth. I don’t date my stepdad’s employees, Shaw. And I don’t hook up with guys I’m working with.

  Yikes. That was blunt even for me. It was a solid minute before the dots popped up.

  Brody: You know all the orgy stuff is a bunch of bullshit, right?

  Honestly, I didn’t know if I believed him or not. The evidence was pretty damning.

  Me: I know we have chemistry, okay? But the dogs come first. Always.

  Brody: Yeah. TBH, getting involved with you would be a shit storm. If the media got ahold of it, they’d say I’m sleeping with you to get in good with Dick...and that’s not why I want you under me.

  Brody: At. All.

  Me: Brody!

  Brody: Not gonna lie. I’ve been thinking about having you under me since we first met. You in that purple dress. The way it showed off your ass-sets... I wanted that particular ass-set filling my palms.

  Me: BRODY! You have to stop.

  Brody: One condition.

  Me: Thank God, anything.

  Brody: Tell me you’ve never thought about me? How we’d...fit, Liliana? How we’d move?

  The truth was I’d thought about what it would be like having Brody between my thighs a lot.

  He was the kind of man that took up all the air in the room. Not only handsome and built, but engaging and smart. When I talked to Brody Shaw, I felt like he was invested in listening to what I had to say. Every word of every sentence. Even discussing football, he never tried to mansplain it to me like other players had.

  His reaction when he’d found out my father was a Hall of Fame linebacker, was comical. We’d been talking about his lucky streak of playing his entire football career in Dallas, and I told him that even my dad had played for another team before I was born.

  Brody leaned against a pillar, his legs crossed casually at the ankles as he sipped bourbon from a tumbler. “Oh? I didn’t know your dad played. Where at? What position?”

  Damn, the man could wear a suit. Navy, with a crisp white shirt and a red pocket square. One corner of my lips lifted. “Yeah, my dad was a linebacker, too. Billy Costello.”

  I watched as the wheels turned in his head and he put two and two together. The way his eyes widened to ridiculous proportions and all traces of cool Brody vanished.

  Then he proceeded to fanboy all up in my face. “Holy shit. Your dad was Billy Costello?”

  I nodded, sipped my champagne. “The one and only.”

  I hadn’t been surprised he didn’t realize. It had been going on two decades since my mom married Dick. The media made plenty out of it, at the time, but as the talk and speculation about Costello’s widow marrying his former team’s GM slipped out of the media, people tended to forget those little nuggets.

  “Seriously? Billy Costello revolutionized the position! Linebacking changed forever because of the way your dad played. I learned so much just watching his films and studying his form, his nose for the ball. I can’t believe I didn’t know he was your dad, Lily, I’m... This...”

  Brody gestured wildly with both hands splashing the rest of his bourbon over the rim, on the floor. “Oh, shit. Did I get you?” His cheeks turned pink as he sputtered before trying to pull it together.

  It was completely endearing. Honest. Guileless.

  Dangerous.

  There were plenty of men in the world I’d fantasized about—Jason Momoa, Dean Winchester, the UPS dude that always made fuck-me eyes when he delivered packages at the Unruly Dog—yet, Brody Shaw... He ticked all my boxes in a way no one else ever had.

  Even Trey hadn’t done that.

  Which meant the man was too damn good to be true.

  Me: G’nite, Brody.

  Brody: Night, Lily

  I got up the following morning to another text.

  Brody: Woke up at 2am with this new growth against my side. Don’t think the ex-pen is going to hold her. P.S. She snores. Loud. :P

  Below, was a picture of CC curled into a ball against his torso. His very muscled, mostly naked torso. To his credit, it appeared he’d tried to cover up with the sheet, but CC had stolen a good portion of his covers. She’d also pushed him to the edge of the bed.

  Sweet Jesus. Was there anything better to look at than a hot, half-naked man cuddling his dog?

  I hadn’t expected the ex-pen to hold CC if she wanted to get out—it was only four feet high—but seeing her snuggled into Brody like that? They were going to be just fine.

  Brody Shaw had finally found a woman he could commit to.

  Chapter Five

  Boners in public are sooo fourteen-year-old me.

  Brody

  Spring was my favorite time of year in the Metroplex. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. In April, it was still cool enough to run outside. Soon enough, life would revolve around workouts, my diet, OTAs—Organized Team Activities, or unofficial training camps—and two-a-days.

  Sitting in damp grass, I stretched my hamstrings while I waited on my running partner.

  Sun warming my face, my eyes slid closed. It was like Lily’s ass had been tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. Dear God, those khaki pants of hers had been screaming pull me off, Brody. Pull me off!

  I would have moved out of the doorway if she’d asked me to, but, goddamn, did she rise to the challenge.

  I had, too. When her hand brushed over my semi, I went full hard-on and had to trap my dick in the waistband of my shorts.

  There was so much more to Lily than her appearance. She was confident and smart, commanding even. She’d never been intimidated to talk to me or tell me her opinion because she was afraid I might disagree.

  Instead, she met me head-on and shot straight. Something I truly appreciated.

  “Brody. My man.”

  I rolled my lids open with effort. “Hmm.”

  “Are we running, or are you going to continue to sit here and think about whoever is giving you that semi?” Once upon a time, Hayes Walker was one of the best tight ends in football. Unfortunately, this was a young man’s sport.

  I’d rounded thirty this year myself. I felt it in every bone of my body, too. Even before I’d dislocated my shoulder last year, I was in so much pain, I was having cortisone injections in that shoulder right and left.

 
But Hayes had a few years on me...

  He was a great sounding board, and an even better player. But midway through last season, the organization moved him back on the roster to make way for a younger version. The stats didn’t lie. He wouldn’t be getting his starting spot back.

  Hands on his hips, he proceeded to give me shit. “Now, don’t get me wrong, bro. I’d much rather plop my ass in the grass next to you and see who can get the biggest hard-on, but we really oughtta go for that run, don’t you think? Plus, we both know I’d win.” He stuck out a hand and helped pull me off the ground.

  “Dude, you killed my wood the minute you said you eyeballed my dick.” We took off, feet padding the ground at a pace comfortable for talking.

  Hayes squinted into the sun. “The trail is a little over three miles. Howsabout we take it easy. My hamstring has been bugging me.”

  I nodded my agreement.

  “So, you going to tell me who you were thinking about? Not sure I’ve ever seen you that way before.” Hayes’s side-eye was accompanied by an asshole grin.

  “What way?”

  “You were thinking about a woman you obviously haven’t fucked, but you want to.”

  “How do you know I haven’t nailed her already?”

  “If you have, and you’re sitting on the ground with a hard-on like a park perv, then I’d be even more worried. Once you hit that, you don’t backtrack. Not that I blame you. Andra was a piece of work. I’d go strictly hit-it-and-quit-it too after someone like that.”

  Sweat crept down my back as our feet struck the crushed granite path and the day warmed.

  Andra.