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

I’m dying.

Volcanic magma coats my tongue and throat. Tears flood my eyes, spilling onto my cheeks, and snot runs uncontrollably from my nose. Chaos is all around me, and I fall from my knees to my ass.

I try to speak, to beg for mercy, but my voice has been burned off. My entire body is burning, and I’m pretty sure these are my final moments on the planet.

From a far-off distance, I hear a woman crying. Garrett’s big hand clasps my shoulder, pressing my back against the bar as the skinny guy holds a plastic glass of milk to my mouth.

“Drink,” Garrett orders, but I can’t.

My lips are gone, melted away by the fire of a thousand suns.

“Drink the milk, Logan!” He grasps my jaw, pulling it down and pouring the cool liquid into my mouth so fast it floods over, running down my chin and onto my shirt.

The burn eases slightly, and at the hint of relief, I grip the glass with both hands, desperately chugging the milk like my life depends on it.

I think it might.

“What have I done?” Dylan is on her knees beside me clasping a washcloth in her hands.

Someone returns with another full glass of milk, and I grab it, control slowly seeping back as the fire recedes.

“Try holding it in your mouth and swishing.” Garrett’s voice is worried as he studies me.

I blink my eyes, trying to regain focus as the pain slowly, slowly dissipates from my mouth and throat, but it isn’t gone. Not by a long shot.

“Better?” he asks.

“My stomach…” I put a hand on my wet shirt.

The burning pain is slowly moving lower, into my abdomen.

“I’m so sorry, Logan.” Dylan holds out the cloth. “Craig told me not to leave those pepper shreds out like that. I never dreamed you would try to eat them.”

Her brow crinkles, and I look down at myself. I’m a fucking mess. I take the cloth, wiping the wetness off my cheeks and my upper lip. My nose is still running, and my overpriced T-shirt and linen blazer are ruined.

“Shew, crisis averted just in time to open the doors.” The other woman, Allie, returns to the kitchen with the skinny guy, Craig, right behind her.

“I’ll see if we have any ice cream.” Garrett follows them, leaving me sitting like a wounded soldier on the battlefield.

“Can I help you up?” Dylan puts her hand on my shoulder, and I look down at myself.

How’s that for putting things into perspective? Big bad Logan Murphy, Lightning Murphy, brought to his knees by a pint-sized woman and a tiny pinch of pepper.

If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d laugh at my dumb ass Instead, I lift my hand, rubbing my palm over my brow. Even with the stop-off in Greensboro, I’m exhausted from the twenty-hour drive, and now I feel like I’ve fought a war.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes are warm caramel, and she blinks those damp, full lashes at me.

She’s acting like she thought I might die, too. I nod, pushing slowly off the floor as she holds my arm.

“I guess I owe you one.” My voice is weak, but I’m trying to break the tension.

“Atta boy. Walk it off.” Garrett hands me a paper cup of vanilla ice cream as I stagger to a chair. “Bro, you scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know what was happening.”

“What did happen?” My lower stomach burns in a weird way, like I literally swallowed a burning coal, and it’s making its way through me.

I’m pretty confident it’s going to burn my ass off later.

“Congratulations, you just won the one-chip challenge.” Craig extends his hand to shake mine. “We shall call you Fire Eater.”

Garrett laughs, slapping him on the back. “Good one, Cray cray.”

Yes. These people are crazy, but to be honest, I think I like it. Not the part where they try to kill me. The part where the tension is broken, and I don’t have to figure out who I am here. It’s pretty hard to be a hotshot football star with snot on my upper lip and milk all over my clothes.

“You ate shredded ghost pepper.” Dylan returns. “I’m so sorry.”

I look down, taking her in properly. It’s what I was trying to do when I nearly died.

I thought Garrett’s kid sister would be just that, a kid. Not a feisty pinup with long, dark hair, sparkling amber eyes, full tits, and an ass just begging for me to squeeze it. The last thing I remember, she was looking at me like she was stripping me naked. Her plump lips parted, and my stomach tightened as all sorts of unholy thoughts flooded my mind.

Nothing like a ghost pepper to torch those fantasies.

Okay, the fantasies are still there, but it’s almost worse. My best friend has a fine-assed little sister, and I’m only here for a month. Raise a glass to what will never be. Damn.

“Aunt Deedee!” A little-girl voice rings through the empty dining area, and a streak of brown curls flies past, jumping onto Dylan’s back.

I guess tackle-hugs are to be expected in a football family.

“Hey, baby!” Dylan laughs, swinging the little girl around to her waist. “Are you here with your dad?”

“Jack?” Garrett turns, a huge smile splitting his lips.

“Gary.” A tall guy pulls him into a hug. “It’s been too long.”

They slap each other’s backs then turn to face me. “Meet my buddy Logan Murphy. Logan, this is my big brother Jack.”

“Jack.” I clear my throat, feeling true embarrassment for the first time in years.

I grew up watching this guy dominate the field while playing for Texas. I even copied a lot of his plays when I thought I’d be a quarterback.

Now he’s standing in front of me in the flesh, smiling, fine lines creasing the corners of his blue eyes, and I’m a freshly extinguished mess.

“Logan, good to meet you.” He holds out a hand, giving mine a firm shake. “I’ve watched you play. You’re a helluva receiver, and fast… Damn, that catch in the third quarter against Oregon…”

Shyness is not in my wheelhouse, but Jack Bradford saying these words to me is kind of blowing my mind.

“I couldn’t have done it without your brother,” I deflect, but it’s true.

The ball was right on the tips of my fingers, but that cornerback was right on my heels, until The Grizzly took him down.

“You boys gonna come out and help me field a team?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Garrett reaches for the little girl riding his sister’s hip. “Like I wouldn’t miss seeing this peanut.”

“Uncle Grizzly!” she yells, climbing onto his back.

“Who told you it was okay for you to get big?” he teasingly fusses. “I told you to stop growing when I’m out of town.”

The little girl frowns. “It just happens! I don’t do anything.”

“It just happens?” he mimics her, jogging around the room while she squeals, her brown ringlets bouncing. “I’m going to come back and find you a grown-up girl.”

“Can I still ride piggyback?” Her tone is worried.

Jack turns to his sister while the two of them make the rounds. “Sure you don’t mind watching her today? I know it’s last-minute.”

“Of course, not. She’s a good helper.”

He looks over at his brother. “Kimmie Joy!” The little girl’s head pops up, and he points to her. “You mind Aunt Dylan, and don’t talk back.”

“She never talks back.” Dylan walks over to take Kimmie from her uncle.

“Cooters & Shooters’ famous three-egg Mediterranean omelet with fresh spinach, Roma tomatoes, feta cheese, and a side of buttery toast.” Allie sets two plates on the table where I’m standing, and Garrett immediately takes a seat.

The savory scent makes my stomach growl loudly. “Damn,” I mutter under my breath.

Garrett is three bites in when he sits back and hollers, “Allie Sinclair, you are the queen of my double-wide trailer!”

She sasses right back. “You know I wouldn’t live in a trailer, Garrett Bradford.”

“If you change your mind, the offer stands.” He returns to his breakfast, and I’m right behind him.

“You’re just hungry.” Allie laughs, and I catch her gaze drift shyly to Jack. “Need some breakfast, Coach?”

“Ah, thanks Allie. I’ve got to take Zane to physical therapy in Mobile.” He doesn’t even notice her doe-eyes blinking up at him. “I’ll be back around three.”

“Wake me up if I’m still asleep.” Garrett says through a mouth full of toast.

Craig rolls the mop bucket out to clean up the milk mess while I pull out a chair.

Taking the fork and knife from the napkin roll, I exhale a laugh. “I can’t get over the name of this place.”

“How so?” He doesn’t even look up.

I glance at him the sideways. “Cooters?”

“Are you insulting Snappy, Happy, and Earl?” He nods at the sign with three turtles on a log in front of crossed pool cues.

“Nobody calls turtles cooters anymore.”

“What do they call them?” He gives me a haughty look.

“Turtles.” I shake a little salt and pepper over the bright yellow eggs. “This smells delicious.”

But I hesitate before taking a bite. The little girl stands right at my side watching me.

I glance at her. “Want some?”

She shakes her head no. “Why are you acting like you’re scared of those eggs?”

“Kimmie J, let the men eat.” Allie taps her little shoulder, but she’s still watching me curiously.

Garrett pokes her side, and she squeals, slapping at his hand. “He ate one of Aunt Dylan’s peppers.”

That makes her eyes widen. “Did you cry?”

“Just about.” I take a bite of my omelet, thankful it’s not the least bit spicy.

“He didn’t just cry,” Garrett laughs. “His whole face exploded.”

Kimmie puts her small hand on my arm. “I bit a pepper once, and I cried.”

“Then you got ice cream.” Dylan walks over, taking her hand.

“Sounds like Aunt Deedee needs to stop leaving hot peppers lying around.” Garrett cuts his eyes at his sister.

“Or people need to stop walking up and eating things without asking what they are.” She squats in front of her niece, right beside me so if I glance to the left, I can see her soft cleavage stretching that white, V-neck tee.

I keep my eyes on my plate, which I’m quickly devouring. This is the best damn omelette I’ve had in a long time.

“Want to help me make up the bedrooms for the men?” she asks Kimmie.

“We can help you with that.” Garrett is on his feet, carrying his clean plate to the kitchen.

“Well, shii—oot.” I quickly clean up my language. “You finished fast.”

“I’m tired, bro.” He returns to his sister. “Walk over when you’re done.”

I look at my nearly finished plate, and exhaustion rolls over me. My near-death experience wiped me out, too, it seems.

“I’ll come with you.” Standing, I carry my plate to the kitchen, grabbing the last piece of toast before following them out the door.

When we got here, we left the truck parked in front of a large white house with a wrap-around porch and a yard full of blooming Crepe Myrtle trees. All our bags are still in the bed, so we stop and grab them while the girls head inside.

“My room’s upstairs. The guest room is on the first floor behind the kitchen.” He’s talking as we walk up the steps to the front door.

Palmettos and camellia bushes mix around the edge of the porch, and a swing on the corner sways in the light breeze. Overhead, the ceiling is painted pale blue, and the scent of sweet olive and salt water hangs in the heavy air.

It’s all so familiar, warm, and welcoming.

Garrett holds the screen door, and I follow him into the house. Dark, polished-wood floors line the downstairs. To the left is an open living room with French doors and lace curtains. Plush couches are arranged in front of a large flatscreen television, and a piano is in the corner.

He grips my shoulder, giving it a shake. “I’ll wake you in time for dinner.”

With that, he heads up the stairs, and I follow the sound of voices coming from the end of the hall in front of me. I pass the kitchen on my left. It’s large and surprisingly modern with a brick oven, custom cabinets, a farm sink, and a heavy-duty gas range with a hammered-copper hood.

Looks like somebody could prepare a feast in here and probably has on several occasions.

“I got it!” The little girl’s voice echoes from the other side of the door in front of me.

Peeking my head around it, I see her helping Dylan spread fresh sheets over a queen-sized bed. Dylan does most of the work, but to her credit, Kimmie Joy tries.

She puts a large pillow under her small chin, struggling to stuff it into a pillow case.

“Let me help you with that.” I put my suitcase on the floor and walk over to take the pillow from her. “This thing is as big as you are.”

“You can put your clothes in the dresser here, and I’m pretty sure there are extra hangers in the closet.” Dylan shakes a quilt, quickly covering the bed.

I open the closet in the corner and pull the string for the light.

“Shit!” I yell, jumping back from dozens of glassy eyes staring straight at me.

Dolls in different outfits with real hair and freaky eyes stand on all the shelves, like some kind of Child’s Play army waiting for activation.

“Sorry…” I lower my elbow, glancing down at Kimmie. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It’s okay.” A small hand clutches mine. “My daddy knows bad words, too.”

“Kimmie!” Dylan scolds, quickly swiping the dolls off the shelves and under her arm. “Did you do this?”

“They had to go in the closet, Aunt Deedee!” The little girl lifts her hands to me, and I instinctively pick her up. “They’re always watching me.”

She tucks her face into my neck, and my chest tightens unexpectedly. I haven’t been around little kids much, and to have her turning to me for support this way makes me want to step up for her.

Dylan puts her hand on her niece’s back. “Come here.” Kimmie slides from me to her aunt. “Sorry about that, Logan.”

“Hey, no apologies necessary. I get it.”

Kimmie starts to squirm, and Dylan puts her on her feet. The little girl takes off running down the hall, and Dylan carries the dolls to the door.

“Do you collect those or something?” I’m really hoping she says no.

“No, I was always more into ballerina Barbie, but my aunt would send me one of these every Christmas” She holds up a blonde one. “Kit Kittridge is an American hero.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’re saying she’s not?” A tease is in her tone.

“I’m saying I’ll sleep better knowing M3gan isn’t in the closet waiting to murder me in my sleep.”

“She’s supposed to be wholesome.”

“Not with those eyes.”

Dylan bites her lip, fighting a grin. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Right now all I need is sleep, but thanks. I will.”

“Sorry again about the whole… ghost-pepper thing earlier.” Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, and she’s really something standing in the doorway in her cutoffs with the soft light from the windows shining in her hair.

“I’ll be sure to ask before I eat anything.”

“You were only following my brother’s lead.” Her chin lifts, and she smiles up at me, hesitating.

“What?”

“You’re not what I expected, Logan Murphy.”

“What were you expecting, Dylan Bradford?” I grin, taking a step closer.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Most of the big-time jocks I’ve met wouldn’t be so understanding about eating a ghost pepper… And I’m not sure they’d comfort a five-year-old who’s scared of American Girl dolls.”

“I don’t like those dolls either.”

A smile curls her full lips. “You’re nice.”

“I’m glad somebody thinks so.”

“Garrett thinks so, or he wouldn’t have brought you here. And Kimmie Joy thinks so, or she wouldn’t have let you hold her.”

“She’s a cute kid.”

“She’s a good judge of character.”

I reach up, hooking my fingers on the top of the door, not really wanting to say goodbye. Her eyes flicker to my biceps, and she blinks down at the doll in her hands. I’m standing here in my jeans and a short-sleeved tee still damp from the milk intended to put out the fire. Only a different fire is smoldering, and I don’t think milk’s going to extinguish it.

Her cheeks are that pretty shade of pink again, and I’m starting to like what it could mean.

Lowering my arms, I cross them over my chest, leaning against the door jamb. “What will you do today?”

“Manage the restaurant.” She holds up one of the dolls. “After I find a place to put these.”

“Got any critters you need to scare away?”

She ducks with a silent laugh. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. I might.”

“Aunt Deedeeeeee!” The little girl yells from the front of the house. “Uncle Craig said stop flirting with Mr. Logan and come back to the restaurant!”

Dylan’s eyes widen. “I am not… That man is so spoiled. I can’t be gone for five minutes before he starts acting up.”

“It’s okay.” I grin, taking a step back. “I don’t mind a pretty girl flirting with me.”

At that her face turns as red as one of her hot peppers, and she spins on her heel, leaving me at the door. It makes me laugh, and I call a goodbye after her.

“Have a good rest, Logan.” She calls over her shoulder, and I watch her round ass sway in those cutoffs as she goes.

Yeah, this is going to be an interesting trip.