Zach stared. What the hell did she expect him to do with her hand? Kiss it? Shake it? High-five her? Feeling like the beast to her beauty, he did none of the above. Instead, he leaned against the door, rested one ankle over the other, crossed his arms over his chest, and scowled at her.
She still had it, that composure, that inborn ability to make him feel like a horny schoolboy again, and he hated it. She’d broken his heart once and taken away the only thing he had as a poor boy from the wrong side of town, his pride, and, even worse, his brother. Well, Zach Murphy didn’t forgive or forget. Besides football, the one thing he excelled at was holding a grudge. Ask Harris.
His high school dream girl—architect of the worst night of his life—wore a formfitting light blue suit, which hugged her slender body. She hadn’t gained a pound in sixteen years. Except her boobs seemed bigger. Maybe she’d gotten a boob job or wore one of those bras that pushed the things upward. Whatever the hell it was, he didn’t give a fuck.
He used to ache for her in high school. She’d been the one bright ray of sunshine in his dismal life, besides football. Her body still attracted him, but he wasn’t a kid anymore, and he was capable of fighting that attraction.
She cleared her throat, and Zach glanced down at her angelic face. Only he knew she was no angel. She stared back at him, her hand held out to him. He stared at her long, delicate fingers and manicured fingernails. One of her nails was chipped, an imperfect touch on a perfect woman and strangely out of character for her.
“You may kiss my hand. Just a brief touch with the lips.”
“Not a chance in hell.” He’d be damned if he’d kiss her hand or any part of her anatomy, no matter how tempting that anatomy might be and always had been.
Frowning, she lowered her hand and sighed as if he might just be the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Well, the feeling was mutual. With an elegant gesture, she pointed toward the chair across the table. “Be seated please.”
He lowered his big body onto the small chair and regarded her with loathing. Harris had set him up. Zach knew he had. The rat bastard would die for this. He’d wring the prick’s neck and throw his remains to the dogfish in Puget Sound. But first, he had to get through this charm school bullshit.
Sprawling in the chair, hands crossed over his chest, he glared at her. She didn’t even blink. Those deep blue eyes of hers drilled into his with a determination he couldn’t help but admire. But then, she’d always been strong-willed.
“Sit up straight. A gentleman doesn’t slouch.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It relays disinterest and disrespect to the person across from you.”
He arched a brow, and she got the point.
“Zach.” Kelsie’s mask of confident superiority vanished, replaced by uncertainty and sadness. Clearing her throat, she met his gaze, and he fought to breathe. “Before we get started, I owe you an apology. One long past due.”
He didn’t say a word and hardened his expression. He gripped the edge of the table and bit into the side of his cheek, hoping the pain would distract him from his intense desire to murder her.
“I was horrible to you in high school. For what it’s worth, I didn’t enjoy being cruel, but I was swept along by peer pressure, but I’m not that person anymore. I am sorry. Really sorry that I hurt you.”
“What makes you think you hurt me?” He glared at her, refusing to let the surprise show in his eyes. Her words meant little to him.
She blinked, once, twice. “Didn’t I?”
“That was long ago. I’m not the idiot I was then. I don’t give a rat’s ass about your apology. It changes nothing. I can’t forgive you for what you did because I don’t forgive cruelty.” She couldn’t begin to know what her selfish cruelty had taken from him and his surviving brother. Her actions had set in motion another set of actions that had shattered his ego and laid waste to his self-worth. For starters. Even worse, what transpired that night had destroyed what was left of his dysfunctional family. The one person he’d sworn to protect, he’d abandoned because of her sweet siren’s song.
Fuck her. Fuck them all with their bullshit manners and polite conversation. That shit didn’t make for good people; instead, the very privilege she and her friends hid behind covered a multitude of sins and personality flaws thinly disguised behind expensive clothes and fake personalities. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need this bullshit. He’d play life his own way on his own terms. He’d played the game their way once, and nothing would ever be the same after that. He’d tried so hard to fit in, earn their friendship, be one of them. It was all bullshit. They weren’t worthy of his friendship, yet they robbed him of one of the most important people in his life.
He hated every one of them, but he hated her the most.
“I understand.” She deflated right before his eyes, yet his temper still flared. This showdown was sixteen years in the making.
“You really don’t understand. Not one fucking bit. You think this is about what you did to me, don’t you?” He wanted to reach across that table and shake her, but he wouldn’t because he didn’t touch women like that.
“It isn’t?” She gaped at him. For the first time, he realized she really didn’t know about what had happened that night when he got home.
“No, it’s not.” He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit here and play these bullshit games with her. He liked his image just fine as it was.
“I don’t understand.” She looked down at her book, fingering the pages as if they gave her comfort.
“You never did.”
He turned to the door and grabbed the door handle and froze. It was as if a hand had reached out and steadied him. He couldn’t throw it all away for the likes of people like her.
The Marauders were waiting in the wings to add him to their team, pick his carcass clean of whatever ability he had left, and then throw the remains to the wolves.
The fucking Marauders. Goodbye Super Bowl ring. His promise to Gary on his deathbed.
He’d sworn he’d win that ring for Gary. It’d been his last request. He couldn’t let her take that away from them, too.
With superhuman strength, he turned back around and pulled a chair away from the table. “Let’s get back to the reason I’m forced to be here.”
Avoiding his cutting gaze, she picked up the book and turned all business again. “I’m giving you a homework assignment. You’re to read chapter one in this book. We’ll discuss it when we meet again Thursday evening.” She pushed the book across the table to him.
“Are you kidding?” He didn’t bother to glance at it.
“Zach, please, the team wants you to work on your image.” She raised her head, her blue eyes pleading. She pinched the bridge of her nose as if he was giving her a headache. He added one point to his mental scoreboard.
“I don’t give a shit about my image.” He tapped his breastbone. “It’s what’s inside that matters, but you wouldn’t know about that.”
She shot to her feet, her blue eyes blazing like six-guns in the hands of a Wild West outlaw. “I’m trying to help you, and all you can do is make me pay for the grudge you’ve been carrying around for sixteen years.”
“Watch your manners.” He shook a finger in her face but abruptly pulled it back when Kelsie looked ready to gut him and mount his head over her mantel.
Taking a visible deep breath, she sat back down. She clasped her hands in front of her on the table. “We need to set up an appropriate time for me to peruse your house to see what we’ll need to do in preparation for the gala.”
He rolled his eyes. “My house looks just fine.”
Kelsie raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. The eyebrow said it all. She didn’t believe him. With that one eyebrow, she’d reduced him to an awkward high school kid without a penny to his name who’d worked his ass off to earn money for a nice suit. In the end, none of his efforts to fit in had mattered one damn bit.
“Okay, fine. We can meet next M
onday evening at my house at seven p.m.” He scribbled his address on a scratch pad lying on the table and gave it to her.
“We’re also meeting Thursday night, don’t forget.”
“Oh, crap.” Zach stared at a point on the wall over her head. “This isn’t going to work out.”
A fleeting moment of panic crossed her face before cool, superior Kelsie took over. “It’ll work out fine. I love challenges.”
Then it hit him harder than a block by a three-hundred-pound tackle. Waitressing at a banquet. The desperation he’d seen in her eyes at the charity ball. This bullshit career of hers. Kelsie was down on her luck. Maybe even flat broke.
She needed this job. Because of that, she needed him.
The thought brought a smile to his face. Payback was a bitch. For the first time, he sensed he had the upper hand with her, and he’d use every bit of power he had to make this mean girl do restitution for what she’d done to him and his family.
She’d work for every penny the Steelheads paid her. He didn’t want to polish his image. He didn’t give a flying seagull’s ass about Veronica Simms’s demands. They’d forced him to attend against his will, and he planned on giving Kelsie as much hell as she’d given him as a high school kid with his first crush. Not that he’d be mean about it, not like she had been and most likely still was. Nope, he’d prove he had more class than she ever had, but he wouldn’t cooperate with her stupid demands—starting with homework assignments.
Despite how much she’d done to him, she still got to him in ways no other woman ever had. He hated her all the more for it.
Chapter 4—Opponents on the Same Team
Friday morning, Coach Jackson summoned Kelsie to the Steelheads’ headquarters. She sat in the reception area, hands folded in her lap, knees pressed together, and wearing that one good suit. Eventually, she’d need to get it dry-cleaned, but for now, she’d make do. At least she had a closet to hang it in.
Kelsie had confined her blond hair to a sleek ponytail and added a small amount of makeup to her face, conserving the expensive cosmetics the best she could. Despite her attempts at frugality—a skill she’d never needed in the past—her cash reserves were anorexic.
Kelsie sat board straight, a habit honed from years of pageant training courtesy of her impossible-to-please mother. Once, as a seven-year-old, she’d been exhausted after hours of being “on” at a child beauty pageant. Her face ached from smiling. Her feet screamed to be released from their too-small patent-leather shoes—ladies didn’t have big feet—and her heavy makeup itched. She stood in line while the judges interviewed five finalists. When they finished with her and moved on to her rival, Candace Johnson, Kelsie released a breath and every muscle in her body went limp. Her shoulders slumped, and she cocked one hip. Afterward, her mother was so furious, she blamed Kelsie’s loss to Candace on Kelsie’s sloppy stance. When they got home, Carmen Carrington had forced her daughter to stand at attention in a corner for an hour without dinner. Kelsie never forgot that lesson.
She’d met with Zach again last night. He was cold and unresponsive. She almost liked angry Zach better. At least she knew where she stood. He’d been so distant, so uninvolved in her lesson, she could only hope some small piece had sunk in, as she outlined the art of tact and diffusing volatile situations.
Tyler Harris sauntered by and did a double take. Turning back, he dropped into the chair next to her and stretched his long legs out in front of him. His trademark killer grin softened the hard lines of his handsome face. “How’s it going with our wolf-boy?”
“Pardon?” Even as she played dumb, the hackles rose on the back of her neck like a lioness defending her cub. Not that Zach looked like a cub. More like a lion, all deceptively laid-back until he struck with lightning-fast speed and intensity.
“Murphy. How’s he doing? Are you making any progress with the moron?”
“I don’t discuss my clients.” Her poised demeanor usually set most men back on their heels but not the brash, overconfident quarterback. Nothing seemed to faze him.
“That bad?” Tyler sat back and propped his feet on the coffee table.
“No, that good.” She looked straight ahead.
He chuckled and smiled, a genuine smile, which momentarily allowed the nice guy buried deep under all the egotistical posturing to emerge. “You’re one gutsy lady to take him on.”
“Who’s gutsy?” Zach stalked over to where they sat, dressed in a ratty pair of workout sweats, a towel draped around his neck. His wrinkled clothes, stubbled face, and shaggy hair presented a stark contrast to Tyler’s expensive sweats and cleanly shaven face.
Tyler Harris might be a gorgeous specimen, but Zach was oh so hot, so male, so sexy. The testosterone poured off him in waves and alerted every female cell in Kelsie’s body to his presence, as if her eyes alone hadn’t already done the job. She fanned her face. As she was too young for hot flashes, it didn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out what started the wildfire burning across her cheeks.
“Kelsie’s gutsy for taking on a jerk like you, Murphy.”
“Better than a prick like you.” Zach dropped into the chair next to Kelsie and ran a hand through his unruly hair, as if a finger combing could tame that rat’s nest. Kelsie made a mental note to find him a decent stylist.
Tyler stood, typical alpha male using his height to intimidate. Zach didn’t blink. Instead, he held a hand up to his mouth and yawned.
Kelsie leaned close to whisper in Zach’s ear. His clean male scent seduced her with a naked Zach fantasy. For a moment she forgot what she was going to say. The odd look on Tyler’s face snapped her out of it. “Zach, now’s a good time to practice what you’ve learned in class on Mr. Harris.” She stabbed him with her best don’t-screw-this-up glare.
Zach stared straight ahead, his chin jutting out in stubborn defiance.
“Zach,” Kelsie threatened, a warning in her tone. The two men—and she used the term lightly—squared off like bullies on a playfield.
Zach glowered at her for a short moment. He stood up to face Harris and visibly composed himself. “Mr. Harris, so nice to see you today. I’m looking forward to our first home game on Sunday. I believe we’ll have a stupendous time kicking some major ass.” Zach’s tone dripped with condescending sarcasm.
Instead of taking offense, Tyler threw back his head and laughed so hard the sound rang off the walls and tears filled his eyes.
Zach shrugged, seemingly unaffected by Tyler’s laughter. He walked across the seating area to one of two championship trophies on display and touched the glass encasing the gleaming silver football like a worshipper touching the face of his idol.
Wiping at his eyes, Tyler shook his head at Kelsie. “Sure you don’t want to cut and run now while you can?”
“No, we’re making progress quite nicely.” Like hell they were, but he wasn’t going to win this one.
“Well, good luck, honey. You’re going to need it.” Tyler sauntered off, still chuckling.
Zach swung back around, apparently not as unaffected as he’d first appeared. He stared after Tyler, murder in his eyes. “That fu—frigging asshole. I’m going to—”
“Kelsie, Coach will see you now.” A short, stocky man interrupted, much to Kelsie’s relief. Sucking in a calming breath and letting it out, she stood and left Zach without another word.
Kelsie entered the coach’s office and sat. Tastefully framed pictures of players adorned the walls along with some Coach-of-the-Year awards. Autographed game balls sat on the cherry bookcase. The huge desk and leather furniture spoke of a man’s domain, a man accustomed to wielding a certain amount of power in his world.
Kelsie approved of the effect and mentally applauded the coach’s interior designer.
Coach Jackson stood and shook her hand. “Kelsie, I only have a few minutes. Got to get to practice. So, what’s your initial assessment of our boy?”
The coach didn’t sit down, so Kelsie remained standing. The man picked up a paperweight a
nd tossed it back and forth in his hands. He radiated nervous energy like a pacing tiger in a cage. “Mr. Murphy is a trial, but I’m up to the task.”
The coach stood still for a split second. “I hope you are. Ownership is adamant about this. In fact, if he doesn’t cooperate, I may lose him.”
“There’s no need for drastic measures. We’re making progress.” Kelsie nodded, sick dread settling in the pit of her stomach. She had to make Zach see beyond his hatred of her to what was really at stake. She’d help him whether he appreciated her help or not.
“I sure hope so. Do I need to give him a little nudge, or is he cooperating?”
“He’s cooperating.”
“I sure hope so. For your sake and his.”
“I’ll take care of him.” Oh, Lord, please help her. Zach didn’t exactly cooperate, and she doubted he’d do his homework either.
“Okay, let me know if he needs any added incentive.” Coach Jackson glanced at his watch. “Time for practice. I’ll be in touch.” He zipped out of the room, paperweight still in hand, leaving Kelsie standing in the eye of the passing tornado and wondering what just hit her.
~ ~ ~ ~
That Sunday, the team won its first home game, making their record two and zero, the best start Zach had ever had as a professional. Afterward, he showered in the locker room and wrapped a towel around his naked lower body. He’d played almost every down on defense in the Steelheads’ first home game of the regular season. The crowd had been electric, rocking the stadium like he’d never experienced in his life.
His body hurt like hell, but he refused to admit he might be getting too old for this. The whirlpool beckoned, and afterward, he might get cozy with a couple painkillers. As a matter of course, he avoided taking pills, but he’d make an exception tonight. It’d been a tough, hard-fought game right down to the wire.
Harris’s laughter dragged his attention to his left. Putting Zach’s locker next to Harris’s had to be Coach’s idea of a sick joke.
Offsides: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 3) Page 4