The Way We Touch: or Wrangling the Wide Receiver (The Bradford Boys)

My brother Zane is tall with dark hair like mine and stunning blue eyes. He’s naturally muscular, and he has our dad’s square chin and our mom’s wide, perfect smile with a deep dimple right in his cheek.

It’s a smile I haven’t seen since he came home six months ago.

Zane is five years older than me, but way back when I was three and he was eight, he was the only one of my brothers who’d sit and read to me.

He wasn’t as rowdy as Hendrix or a brute like Garrett, who was already huge at six and throwing me over his shoulder, running around like I was a football. He didn’t have Jack’s raw talent, but he loved the game.

Being a former team captain, our dad was constantly watching and working with his boys. Zane was a good teammate, but he didn’t want to be the star. He liked to do his own thing and be left alone, which is why Dad steered him to kicking.

Dad would say the kicker is one of the most important members of the team. An entire game could turn on a single field goal or an extra point. Zane was consistent and accurate, he could get good height and rotation on the ball, and it gave him space.

He went in the first round of the draft, and by the time he made it to Baltimore, he was one of the highest paid kickers in the league.

Then the accident happened, and his entire life turned on a single fake field goal. Now he’s always alone.

“Zane?” I tap on his door, waiting in the quiet hall in the middle of the day.

A rustling noise from inside precedes the door opening a crack. “Dylan, what’s up?” His voice is low and scratchy, like he was asleep.

“Come down to the restaurant. I made more pulled pork than we can sell tonight. It’s your favorite.” I smile, doing my best to pry him out of this cave.

“Thanks, sis.” He straightens as if he’ll close the door again. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Wait!” My hand shoots out, and I stop the wooden barrier. “Just come down and sit with me. I miss talking to you.”

He inhales slowly, releasing the door and stepping away. I push it open, stepping inside his neat bedroom. A box in the corner holds several discarded trophies, and the walls are bare.

A large bookcase is mostly empty, and I walk over to see it holds fabric-covered hardback classics. Pulling one down, I read the spine, A Separate Peace.

“Are you reading this?”

“No.” He walks over and sits in a chair beside the polished-oak desk. “I’m pretty sure that was Dad’s.”

It makes me sad, because I know how much he loved to read, but I’m not going there. “I’m going to steal this bookcase. Mine’s overflowing.”

“Go for it.” He waves a hand.

His beard is thicker than Logan’s, but still trimmed and tight. The thin T-shirt he wears lets me know his muscles are still toned, and a sleeve of tattoos covers his right arm. His eyes are tired and lately they’ve been so distant.

“Remember when we were little kids, and you’d read to me?” I smile, tilting my head to the side. “What was that book you always read?”

“Everybody Poops. Mom said it would help you relax and go potty.”

“She told you that?”

“Yep.” He exhales, stretching in his seat. “I was the only one who’d sit still long enough for her to talk to. Until you got bigger.”

“I miss talking to you.” I walk over to put my hand on his shoulder. “We all miss you down at the restaurant. Craig asks about you all the time.”

His smile is more of a wince. “I don’t like how people look at me when I’m there, and if one more person speaks to me in that voice…”

“What voice?” I lean down, imitating the high-pitched, sing-song sympathy tone. “The one where I’m soooo worried about you?”

“Stop.” He flinches away from me.

“Does your footie-woot hurt weel weel bad?”

“I’m going to start flipping tables.”

“Don’t do that.” I drop the baby voice. “The Coot & Shoot has gotten rowdy enough after dark. I’m starting to rethink the whole concept of my Dare dish. Last time it broke out into a full-on, dirty-dancing party, and we still had little kids there.”

“It’s your thing. Customers love it.”

“Only a small group of customers love it. Most of them can’t even eat it. We throw away more than we give out.” Exhaling a sigh, I walk to the door. “I’m starting to think maybe Davis is right, and it’s a dumb idea, both from a business and an accounting perspective.”

“Davis Kent is a jackass.”

“And the Coyote Ugly routine is probably a health code violation. If anybody complains, we could get fined or whatever they do with those.”

“Nobody’s going to complain about pretty girls grinding on a bar.”

“I don’t know. Some people get real mean when they’re titillated.”

That manages to draw a ghost of a smile from him. “They can eat somewhere else.”

Bobbing my head side to side, I’m not giving up on him so fast. “We could probably tone it down some. It would be nice to have a calming presence, though.”

“You mean a distraction?”

“You’re not that distracting.”

“Everyone in the world saw my injury. It’s all they see when they look at me.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. Not everybody in the world watches football, you know.” He cuts me a look. “Just around here, and you need to get out of this house.”

“I do get out of this house.” He presses on his knees, rising slowly. “I go for drives…”

“After dark, which is weird and stalkery. People are going to think you’re a serial killer.”

“I’m not a serial killer.”

“Good, because Miss Gina has a job for you. Steven is retiring, and she needs someone to help with her garden and minor repairs. I told her you were available.”

“Dylan,” he groans.

“Well, you are, and she’s blind so no pitiful looks. It’s the perfect thing. She’s the sweetest little old lady, and she needs help with that big ole house.”

“I can’t be running up and down all those stairs. Aren’t they marble?”

“Good news: She has an elevator.”

Quiet falls around us, and he leans on the doorknob, which I guess means it’s time for me to go. His chin lifts, and he seems to acknowledge defeat.

“Fine, I’ll swing by and talk to her.”

“You’ve already got the job. She even said she’ll pay you.”

“How much?” His brow furrows, and I shrug.

“I didn’t ask her. That’s your business.”

“Oh, now it’s my business.” A low chuckle gives me the smallest bit of relief.

He’s not a total lost cause, and I have faith in Miss Gina. Reaching out, I slide my hand over his wrist, giving him a squeeze.

“Thank you, Zane.”

I start for the door when he stops me. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Dee. It always weighed on me… I guess karma took care of that.”

Sadness twists in my chest, and I look up to meet the ghosts in his eyes directly. “I have never once held what happened against you. It was just one of those things—a freak accident.”

He nods, turning away. “How did you get over it?”

It’s a quiet question, and it breaks my heart. I don’t like to think of him up here struggling alone. Craig would never leave me alone that way, and I’m not leaving my brother either.

Exhaling a laugh, I do my best to stay upbeat. “Who says I did?”

Before I leave, I pause, looking around the small but clean space. “Are you sure you don’t need to move downstairs? We could put Logan up here⁠—”

“Across the hall from you?” His voice rises, and he becomes a touch more animated. “Sounds like a good way to burn the house down.”

My eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not blind.” His eyebrow arches. “Or deaf, Miss Phone Sex.”

Heat races up my neck behind my ears, and I hustle through the door. “Good, because Miss Gina needs somebody who can hear.”

His deep laugh follows me down the stairs, and I wince. I might be embarrassed as hell, but it’s not too much to drown out my relief. I think that might have been a little breakthrough.

Maybe that old blind lady is right. Maybe something good is coming.

“Your brother didn’t kick my ass.” Logan’s forearm is braced on the door frame above my head, and my back is against the door.

After stealing little touches and thrilling looks all night, we’ve managed to sneak out to the empty playground behind the restaurant. The moon is almost full, and a breeze lifts my hair around my shoulders.

“I’m glad to see it.” He’s so tall, I have to tilt my head to look up at him, and I can’t keep a silly grin off my face. “What did he say?”

He reaches up to slide his thumb lightly from my chin down my jaw. “A lot of things I didn’t know.”

The warmth in his eyes makes my stomach squeeze. It makes me cross my arms over my waist.

“Like what?” I’m a little breathless.

“He said you should go to culinary school.”

“Oh,” I shake my head, rolling my eyes. “I don’t have to go to culinary school to learn new recipes. That’s why God made YouTube.”

A low laugh rumbles in his chest, and it’s a vibration straight to my core. “Maybe you can teach me some new recipes. Something other than ghost peppers.”

“I can do that.” I give him a little wink. “I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Not too easy.” He leans closer. “I like my girl to have an edge.”

“Your girl?”

“That’s what I said.” He’s so close, his fresh, citrusy scent surrounds me.

My lips are heavy, and I reach up to tug the front of his shirt, bringing him closer. “Do you mean me?”

“You know I do.”

Rising onto my tiptoes, I seal my lips to his. His hand goes around my waist, and he pulls me flush against his hard body. His mouth opens mine, and when our tongues slide together, I exhale an aching whimper.

He groans in response, and heat saturates my core. I rise higher, pressing my body closer as I thread my fingers in his soft hair. I wrap my arms around his neck, and for a moment, it’s as if we’re melting together. It’s only us and the touch of skin against skin, the warmth of our lips pulling each other’s.

His hand finds the bare skin at my waist, and I arch my back. I want him to move that hand under my shirt, lift my bra and play with my breasts, but a loud laugh from inside the restaurant cuts through the haze.

“Fuck,” he groans, moving his lips to my eyebrow. He kisses my forehead and the top of my head before wrapping me in a hug. “I can’t get enough of you.”

My cheek is buried against his chest, and my eyes close as I hold him, inhaling his body all around me. I know the feeling, but I also know I’ve got two brothers inside and a restaurant full of people.

“I’d better get back in there.” I lift on my tiptoes once more to kiss his lips. “I’m looking forward to our date.”

“Wear a dress.”

The naughty grin on his lips is another flash of heat to my slippery core, and I drop my chin with a laugh. “I will.”

Hurrying through the dining hall, I give the place a quick sweep before heading into the kitchen where Thomas is at the stove. Craig is at the sink rinsing a large pot with the hand sprayer.

He’s dancing and singing along to an old Indigo Girls song, and when he sees me, he lets out a loud, “She boned him!”

“Craig!” I yelp, going straight to him, lifting my hand like I’ll grab his mouth.

He turns fast, holding the nozzle at me like a gun. “Don’t make me spray you.”

“Stop saying that—Kimmie will hear!”

“She doesn’t know what it means.” He finishes up with the pot.

“No, but she’ll repeat it, and her uncles know what it means.”

That makes him snort. “Logan is a brave man… but you’re worth the beat-down they’ll give him.”

“Nobody’s beating anybody. We’re going on a real date, and we have not had intercourse.”

“Don’t play games with me, Danger-girl.” His eyes narrow. “You’ve had something. You’re glowing.”

Pressing my hands to my cheeks, I look in the mirror over the sink. I can’t see a difference, but I do feel happy, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it to Monday.

Craig’s face appears over my shoulder, and his teasing expression is gone. He’s studying me with all seriousness. It’s a look I haven’t seen since my injury.

“You really are glowing. That asshole better watch his back.”

“That’s a switch.” I frown at him, crossing my arms and turning to face him. “I thought he was hot as a ghost pepper, and he was supposed to get the cobwebs off my coochie.”

“That was before. Now you have a look like…”

My chest tightens so fast, I hiccup a breath. “Like?”

“Like that boy’d better be serious. I know at least five men who will hand him his ass if he plays more than football.”

“At least five?”

“I don’t know how invested Thomas is.” He says it loud enough so our old chef can hear him.

Thomas’s reply comes calm and easy. “I’ll bring a shovel.”