Those eyes.
That mouth.
Her mouth was normally closed in my fantasies, unless it was wrapped around my cock.
Because usually when she spoke, she was irritated with me.
But this pull I felt toward her was unexplainable.
I needed to put some distance there, but here I was, taking her to crash a high school date with me.
I’d never messed around with drugs of any sort, but I had a hunch that Brinkley Reynolds was my own personal kind of addiction.
And that did not sit well with me.
“I need to take this. Anything you hear is off the record,” I said as I glanced at her.
“Of course, it is. Everything is off the record with you, Captain.” She rolled her eyes as I answered the call.
“Hey, dude. I’ve got that reporter I told you about in the car, so watch what you say.”
Brinkley glared at me, and I chuckled.
“Oh, the hot one that you got fired?”
The fucker.
“I didn’t say she was hot, you dickhead.”
“Hey, Brinkley. He did tell me that you were hot. Long, dark hair, dark eyes, and you can hold your own when you run with him. That’s high praise coming from big, bad Lincoln Hendrix.” He chuckled, and I shook my head.
“Hi, Brett. We actually met two years ago before you left San Francisco. You were very nice and one of the only guys willing to be interviewed, unlike closed-off Hendrix over here,” she purred.
Was she fucking flirting with him?
“Closed-off Hendrix!” He barked out a laugh. “You definitely know how to handle his stubborn ass. And I’m always happy to oblige a beautiful woman.”
“Does this shit really work for you?” I grumped. “What’s up? We’re about to pull up to the football field, and I’ve got to get out of the car because I’ve somehow been wrangled into surprising some kid for his birthday.”
“Brinkley, don’t let his asshole personality fool you. He’s got the biggest heart in the NFL.”
“Well, he’s really good at hiding it,” she said, looking over at me when I put the car in park.
“It’s all an act. I mean, trust me, he’s a total asshole to strangers. And he’s kind of an asshole to his friends.”
“Is there a point to this fucked-up story?” I asked.
“I’m just giving you a hard time. Coach said you’re flying out here next week. I think it’s time to pull the trigger.”
“Did you not hear me tell you that there was a reporter in the car?”
“Please. It’s dinnertime there. Well past working hours. If you didn’t like her, she wouldn’t be in the car with you right now.”
“I’m hanging up. I’ll be there next week. It’s just a discussion. Drew will be there, too.”
“Hey, why don’t you bring the beautiful Brinkley? If she’s shadowing you, she should be coming with you to check out the program.”
“Call you later, dickhead.”
I ended the call and turned to face her. Her lips were turned up in the corners the slightest bit like she’d just won something.
“What are you smiling about?”
“So, you think I’m hot, huh?” She laughed. She was wearing a cute-as-hell white sundress that fell off her shoulders with a pair of cowboy boots.
“You’ll have to ask tomorrow during your allotted question time,” I said, pushing out of the car.
“I don’t need to ask something that I already know the answer to!” she shouted as I made my way around the car and opened her door.
“So what? He asked if you were good-looking. What was I going to say?”
“Well, we know what you said, don’t we?”
I turned so fast she didn’t have time to move. Once again, I had her backed up against the car with both hands on each side of her pretty face.
“Are you telling me you don’t think I’m good-looking? I caught you staring earlier, didn’t I?”
She flashed me a wicked smile. “You’re all right. Definitely not my type.”
“Oh, really. And what’s your type? Sexist pigs who play hockey?”
“You have a real obsession with Breen Lockhart, don’t you? You almost sound jealous.”
I stepped back and dropped my arms. “Not the jealous type, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
She reached into the back seat for the poster she made and handed it to me. We fell into stride beside one another, and we walked toward the football field.
“So, New York is where you’re thinking, huh?”
“It’s high on the list,” I said, not telling her the whole truth. It was the only one on the list besides the team I’d been playing for. I was fairly certain I was ready to make the decision, and it would probably happen very soon. “How about you go with me to New York next week? Nothing will go to print until after I make my decision. But you’ll get to meet a few of the guys and see that I’m not a complete asshole when I’m around the people I’m close to. I’ll find out how much I can trust you at that point.”
“Have I given you any reason not to trust me? You’re so skeptical of people,” she snarled beside me.
I came to a stop. She was right. She’d gone along with everything I’d asked of her so far, and I’d been an asshole most of the time. “Aside from arguing with me daily, you’ve done everything I’ve asked.”
“Is that an apology?” she asked, tucking her dark hair behind her ear.
She was so fucking pretty.
“Do you want an apology?”
“I do, actually,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.
“Good. Ask for it tomorrow as one of your questions.” I started walking and chuckled when I heard her grunt from behind me.
“You’re such a stubborn ass.”
“Been called worse, sweetheart. Usually by you, if I’m being honest.”
“If the shoe fits,” she hissed as she jogged to catch up to me as I strode toward the field.
“Oh, the shoe fits, but it has to be specially made because it’s so big.” I winked as we came to a stop at the chain-link fence.
Lionel was sitting on a blanket with Brandy, who looked up and squealed that deafening sound again.
“You came!” she shouted.
The girl had texted me five thousand times. Did I have a choice?
“Let’s go.” Brinkley elbowed me in the side and reached for the gate before pushing it open. She marched in front of me, her tanned legs striding in her boots toward Brandy and Lionel. I couldn’t take my eyes off her ass.
Her hair moved from side to side across her back.
“Mr. Hendrix. Is that you?” Lionel said, pushing to his feet as he hugged Brinkley quickly.
“I told you, you can call me Lincoln.” I extended a hand, and he shook it with a bit more strength than I’d expected, and then I handed him the poster that Brinkley made. She’d gone all out, and there was most likely glitter all over my car now. “Happy Birthday, buddy.”
“How is this happening?” he said, letting my hand go as he bent over his knees like he’d done the first time I’d met him as he tried to catch his breath.
“I arranged for Jimi Hendrix to meet us out here,” Brandy said, and Brinkley’s head fell back in a fit of laughter.