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

We keep going until sunset, with only a short break for lunch. I’d forgotten how hot it gets in the deep south in late July, and after running up and down the field all day in the blazing sun, I’m a hot, sweaty mess.

A quick shower and wardrobe change later, and we’re at Cooters & Shooters for dinner. Garrett makes a big show of hugging Thomas, lifting him off the ground while the older man protests.

“You’re going to break my back!” he cries, and I shake my head, taking a long drink of beer while I scan the large dining area—just checking out the place, not looking for Dylan.

“Never!” Garrett growls.

The older man gives us platters of burgers and fries, and I think if I ask where his sister is, Garrett will be onto me. He almost busted me earlier when she and Allie stopped by for a visit.

Seeing her this morning made me so damn happy, it took a minute to get my game face back in place, but the guys were all pretty focused on the kids who were trying out and running plays.

I learned through the day a lot of the boys came from little places all around, some from outside the county limits, to work with Jack Bradford. Some from families with hardly any money, for whom football could be their only hope of going to college, all because of Jack’s reputation.

It’s a reality I know well, even if I never had to confront it myself. From what I know of Garrett and his brothers, football was their ticket to security as well, although they had the advantage of a celebrity dad.

“We’ve got another early day tomorrow.” Garrett slaps my back after we’ve finished eating, as we walk back to the house. “Ready to do it all over again?”

“Yeah,” I laugh, looking up and wondering if Dylan will be inside.

“He’s got a good group of boys this year.” Garrett continues, holding the door as we jog up the back steps. “It’s not always like that.”

“You’re pretty good at giving feedback, even when it’s not so great.”

“I’m just honest. Everybody appreciates a straight shooter, and I try to be fair. The truth is some of these guys just need time.”

He has a point. I’ve seen boys come back after a summer and be a foot taller and totally filled out. What matters is the boys like him, and they respond to his instruction.

“Need anything?” He pauses in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

The house is empty, and a ribbon of disappointment slips through my chest. “I’m good.”

“In that case, I’m heading up to shower. I’m beat, and I need to see what Zane’s been doing all day.”

I know he’s worried about his brother, who disappears most days when he’s not hanging out in his bedroom.

“I’m turning in, too.” No reason to hang around by myself.

We say our goodnights, and I walk into the guest room. I’m restless, which is incredible after how hard we worked and how hot it was today. I wait to get undressed, thinking I could just happen to venture into the kitchen if I hear anyone rustling around in there.

Anyone like Dylan.

Next thing I know, I’m waking up fully dressed in the dark.

I sit up frowning and go to the door. The house is quiet, and I’m pretty sure I missed Dylan. Opening the door, I glance down the hall lined where dim lights illuminate the floor. I’m thirsty, so I’ll grab a bottle of water before changing clothes and getting a real night’s sleep.

Creeping into the quiet kitchen, I’m about to open the refrigerator when a gasp stops my heart.

“Fuck, who’s there?”

“Logan?” a soft voice whispers.

My chest tightens when I see her sitting on the other side of the bar with a laptop open in front of her. Her long hair is pulled up into a ponytail on the top of her head, and her eyes are wide like I’ve caught her doing something embarrassing.

“Hey.” I can’t help a smile, and with the way she’s acting, I can’t help a tease either. “What are you doing? Watching porn?”

“What?” Her voice goes high, then she looks at the computer and exhales a laugh. “Oh—no. I was…” She clears her throat, closing the computer. “Just watching some old videos.”

I don’t want to invade her privacy, but I am glad to see her. “We missed you at the restaurant tonight.”

“I was helping Jack with Kimmie, getting her bathed and putting her to bed.” She’s dressed in a long-sleeved tee and shorts, and she’s really pretty, nothing like the women I’ve been wasting time with. She’s fresh-faced and so real. “What did I miss?”

“Not much, I imagine. Your buddy Craig is hilarious, and Thomas is a gem.”

“Yes, he is.” She nods, leaning on her arm. “He’s been at the restaurant since I was a little girl. He and my dad played ball together when they were in college.”

“I figured he was older than he looks.”

I take a bottle of water from the refrigerator, leaning against the counter across from her.

“You looked like a natural out there today.” She watches me, a light in her eyes. “The boys really respond to you and Garrett, and I know Jack appreciates the help. He acts hard as a brick wall, but he’s a softie.”

“I had a good time.” My eyes drift to the counter as I think about working with the boys and their excitement. “It reminded me of being that age, just getting started in the game. Falling in love for the first time, how it feels like anything could happen.”

“Very poetic, Mr. Murphy.” She’s playing with me, and my eyes return to her face.

Am I poetic? I never have been before. Yet something about this woman makes me want to say what I’m thinking rather than hide it. Is it her? Is it this place? I can’t seem to curb this drive to understand, as if it’s the key to what’s not working for me.

“Garrett said I’d get my head straight here, and I’m starting to think he’s right.”

“Why was your head crooked?” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, no judgment, only curiosity.

“I don’t know.” I exhale a chuckle at her phrasing. “Maybe it was just burnout. I still love the game, the strategy, the teamwork. Of course, I love winning.”

“Of course.”

“It’s all the other things around it weighing me down. The fake friends, the flashing lights, the online gamblers. God, they’re the worst, but even the women…”

“Are you thinking of switching teams? Craig will be thrilled.”

“What?” My eyes snap to hers, and I grin. This girl. “No, I just meant the women I dated. It always feels like they’re using me to get to the next level, to elevate their brand or get more followers. It’s all a numbers game now, and it’s sucking out the joy.”

“That makes sense.” Her voice is quiet, a little sad, and I straighten.

“I’m sorry. You were out here peacefully watching porn, and here I am dumping all my shit on you.”

“I wasn’t watching porn!” Her laugh is a little louder, and her cheeks blush.

The ends of her ponytail bounce around her shoulders, and her full lips part over straight white teeth. Her feet are bare, and fuck me with those red toenails.

“Then why did you act so guilty when I caught you?”

She exhales a little argh noise, opening her laptop again. “I was watching my old dance videos.”

“You danced?” I push off the counter, rounding the bar to where she’s sitting.

“For thirteen years. Now the assistant principal at the high school wants me to teach it as a PE course, and I was just…” She bites her lip, hesitating.

“Pregaming? Watching your old moves?”

“More like trying to remember something I worked so hard to forget. It’s scary.”

Up to now, I’ve only seen her smiling and playful. We’ve skimmed around heavier topics, but seeing a real note of sadness in her expression, hearing her voice change, a different emotion twists in the center of my chest.

It’s something I’ve never experienced before, and similar to how I felt when Jack’s little girl buried her face in my neck, but stronger, more persistent.

I want to gather her into my arms and press my lips to her head. I want her to tell me what’s making her sad, what’s stealing that pretty light from her eyes. I want her to lay it on me so I can fix it, so I can tell her I’ll take it away and keep her safe. What the hell?

Swallowing this rush of feelings, I lightly place my hand on her shoulder instead. “Why would you want to forget it?”

She wrinkles her nose as if she’ll try to smile. “I guess sitting here, alone in the dark, the memories hit me harder than I expected.”

“Good thing I showed up.” My thumb moves back and forth across the top of her arm. “Let’s see.”

Her slim fingers hesitate over the touchpad, almost like she’s afraid to start it. After a moment, she swipes and the dark screen blinks to life. The video is of a practice room with a couple standing in the center, perfectly positioned, chins lifted. The girl is in a pink leotard with black tights and pink pointe shoes. The guy is in navy joggers and a gray tank.

It only takes a second to recognize a much younger Dylan and Craig. She taps the play icon, and they begin to move. Dreamy piano music surrounds us, and he backs away from her holding his hand out as if drawing her to him. She backs quickly en pointe until they both stop at the exact same time.

Then they spring into action. He steps forward, lifting her off her feet, and her legs straighten into a perfect split. He moves her through the smoothest arc over his head, and when he lowers her, their arms extend and entwine. His fingers lift beneath her elbows, and her arms stretch into a line, one hand resting on his bicep as her leg lifts behind them.

“Holy shit.” I watch them fold and unfurl, crossing the stage quickly then stopping for another lift in perfect, flowing rhythm. “This is really good. It’s like you’re reading each other’s minds.”

“Craig was an amazing partner.” Her voice is quiet. “He had a playful style of dancing, but he never missed a beat. He was slim, but so strong. I knew he would never drop me, and it gave us the confidence to be daring.”

“I can see his muscles.” We’re both almost whispering, as if we’re watching something sacred, and the way he holds her, the way he gazes in her eyes, burns in my chest. “It’s making me jealous.”

“Of his muscles?” Her eyebrow arches, teasing.

I’m embarrassed I said that out loud. “This is really special, I mean. I can’t believe you’d stop. I know how hard it is to give up a sport you love.”

“Funny you should say that. Nobody ever calls ballet a sport.”

“Are you kidding? Sure, it looks delicate, but you guys are working hard. I imagine you had to practice all the time. It’s a lot like what we do.”

She leans back, all teasing gone. “You’re an interesting man, Logan Murphy. I’m sorry I almost killed you.”

“I thought you didn’t.”

“You’re right, I take it back. You did that to yourself.”

I huff a laugh. “You should come with a warning, Dylan Bradford.”

“I’d say the same to you.”

Her eyes meet mine, and the temperature in the room shifts. We’ve both tipped our cards a little, and my heart beats faster.

Watching another man holding her, touching her, even a gay man, has my inner caveman coming alive. I want to claim her like she’s mine…

But she’s not mine.

Shaking these thoughts away, I nod at the laptop. “So what happened? I mean, unless it’s none of my business?”

I’m asking her these questions like I have a right to know her past, like I expect her to tell me. At the same time, I want to know everything about her.

“It’s okay.” She touches my arm, and my entire body lights. “It was special. Craig is my best friend, and he’s always been there to help me get back on my feet.”

“Were you hurt?”

A ghost of a smile is on her lips, and her teasing game isn’t as strong now. “Yes. Once again, all thanks to football.”

My brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

She closes the laptop again. “I was seventeen. It was senior year, Thanksgiving break. All the guys were home, and we thought it would be fun to play a family game in the backyard.” Her eyes drift away, past the device holding her history, now quiet on the bar. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault… Jack threw a pass, and I ran to catch it. The ground was uneven, and the guys are naturally competitive. I stepped in a hole, and a two-hundred-pound giant came down on top of me.”

“Fuck,” I hiss a sharp inhale. “You broke your leg?”

“My ankle and a bone in my foot.” She looks down at her foot on the chair. “It was a career-ending injury.”

“Shit.” I step back resting my hands on my head, and I remember what her brother said the first day we got here. “Garrett landed on you?”

“Zane, actually. He was a bit thicker when he was younger.”

“He must’ve felt like shit.” As much as I can’t imagine my career ending, I can’t imagine ending someone else’s—especially not someone I loved, someone so talented.

She nods, looking down. “It changed my life. I haven’t found anything I love as much since.”

I lower my arms, stepping forward. Now I really really want to pull her to me. Instead, I touch her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Forcing a smile, she looks up at me. “What do they say? Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened?”

“Does that make it better?”

“No.” Her gaze lowers to her lap, and I can’t hold back anymore.

I reach out and take her hand, and we both look down at my fingers wrapping around her slim ones. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay.” Her thumb slides across my skin. “There were times I wished I’d never danced at all. I wish I didn’t know how much I loved it, because then I wouldn’t know how painful it is not to have it.”

Touching her chin, I lift her face so our eyes can meet. Every breath, every heartbeat, draws us closer.

I slide my thumb down the line of her jaw. “Do you still feel that way?”

“Sometimes?” Her brows clench. “I said I’d never dance again, but when I see us, I remember how beautiful we were…” She blinks away, and I can almost see her rebuilding her walls. Her tone changes. “Which is why I’ll say yes to teaching. It’s what Jack does. It’s what all of you do to hold onto what you love, to pass it on to the next generation.”

“Maybe sharing your love can heal the loss?”

Her cheeks flush, and her tongue touches her bottom lip. I was talking about her love of dance, the way I’d been talking about my love of football… I think?

Now I’m not so sure. Is it like Garrett said—something about the night, the quiet, makes it easier to say what’s on your mind.

So I say it.

“You’re very beautiful, and you’re very strong. I think you’ll be an amazing teacher.”

Our bodies are close, and this pull between us is undeniable. It’s been growing since she knocked me on my ass, and now with her sitting on this barstool, her face right at my shoulder, I feel like I can’t resist.

I’m a man of action. I’m used to taking what I want when I want it. Leaning closer, my lips are heavy. I could dip my chin and capture her mouth with mine, but I’d never force her.

She places her palm flat against my stomach, and my muscles tense. Have I ever responded to a woman this way? Have I ever craved someone this much? It’s a low fire simmering in my veins, fueled by the most primitive of urges.

It’s so elemental, it makes me ask questions I’ve never considered before. Was this meant to happen? Is it why I came here?

A door opens upstairs, and the spell breaks. Someone shuffles across the hall overhead, and another door closes. As if waking from a dream, she pulls her hand back abruptly, gathering her laptop to her chest.

“You’d better get some rest.” She slides off the stool not meeting my eyes. “You’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

In her bare feet, her head only reaches the center of my chest. I picture myself sweeping her into my arms as her legs wrap around my waist so gracefully.

My hand is on her upper arm. My intention is for it to be friendly, reassuring, but her skin flushes, and she trembles. Her response is like a drug, and I’m already addicted.

She lifts her chin, and her dark lashes flutter before her eyes meet mine. With a groan, I withdraw my hand.

“You’d better go to bed before I do something I can’t take back.”

“Would you want to take it back?”

“No.” I step away. “Goodnight, Dylan. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Goodnight.” Her voice is quiet.

She steps into the dark hall, but hesitates, looking over her shoulder at me once more before disappearing into the darkness.