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

“You’re where?” My father’s voice is stern on the line, laced with impatience.

“Newhope. It’s a small town on the coast in Alabama.”

“What the hell are you doing there? You were supposed to come back this summer and work with me at the office.”

Groaning internally, I can’t think of anything worse than spending the last of my summer in hot as Hades Houston or being stuck in that high rise in a suit with him every day of the week.

“I never said I’d do that.” My tone is flat.

“You’re acting like a college student. How is the staff supposed to get to know you if you’re gallivanting all over the Gulf Coast with your friends?”

“I’m not gallivanting.” I do my best to keep the snap out of my tone. “I’m visiting Garrett’s family. His brother is Jack Bradford.”

I almost hear the record scratch as his tone changes. “Jack Bradford the quarterback?”

Silence fills the line, and I know he’s impressed. I spent every fall into winter watching the games with him, watching him covet Jack’s celebrity.

“He’s head coach at the high school here. We’re helping him field a team.”

“See if you can talk him into doing an interview. A lot of people were disappointed when he retired the way he did. He had at least five more good years in him. It took the Mustangs a while to recover from that loss.”

The Mustangs did just fine, as I recall. My mind drifts to Dylan.

I thought about her all last night as I lay awake in my bed. Now I’m thinking of her fears for her brothers and the risks of being a professional quarterback.

“Pretty sure he had his reasons.”

“I’m not interested in your theories. Listeners want to hear it from the horse’s mouth. Maybe he can hop on a zoom with Mario. See what he says.”

My brow lowers. “You know I graduated with honors in communications from UT, right?”

“You’re saying you want to interview him?” The scoff in his tone bristles my skin. “Let’s leave that to the professional talent. Your place is in the boardroom with me.”

The last place I’d ever want to be.

My jaw tightens, and I gaze at the bay from the back porch of Garrett’s brother’s house. They’re inside sharing a beer, breaking down the game, discussing the team, but I stepped out when my dad’s name appeared on the face of my phone.

We spent another long day today at camp, but I feel energized. Jack had Garrett and me talk to the young players, and I was impressed by their mature, thoughtful questions.

They wanted to know if we still thought a college degree was as important as going straight to the draft once they had a name.

The answer from me was an obvious yes, get your degree. Garrett’s answer was a little more nuanced. I didn’t know he’d struggled with dyslexia, and his grades in school were bad. That got several of the guys’ attention.

His point was, if you’re not a strong student, but you’re a big strong athlete like he is, perhaps it’s better to make the most of your good years and bank as much money as you can before retirement.

“It’s your year,” my dad continues, drawing me back into the conversation. “You’re going to win that trophy, and then you can retire and take over for me.”

“Or maybe I’ll keep playing.” The words are out before I can stop them.

I usually keep my thoughts to myself. I’ve been around this rodeo long enough to know where it leads if I don’t.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Here we go.

“It means I’ve still got a few good years left in me, and I’m not ready to trade it all in for a suit and tie in a sterile office all day.” With you.

He exhales heavily. “You said when you started this barbaric endeavor it would only be for five years. Now you’re up to eight. Win the damn trophy and walk away while you still can.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Every time you go onto that field, there’s a chance something could go wrong. You saw what happened to Jack’s brother, the kicker.”

Zane. I think about the broody fellow who lurks around the house and keeps mostly to himself or his room. I think about Dylan. Again.

Beautiful Dylan who gave me a peek behind her dark curtain last night. Funny how we only think about ourselves when it comes to career-ending injuries. Ballet is a beautiful sport, and she was amazing.

She is amazing.

Her full lips and soft skin haunted me as I tried, and failed, to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her pretty amber ones burning with passion, laced with sadness. I should’ve kissed her.

“Did you hear me?”

“Sorry, what?”

Another impatient noise. “Let me know when you’re back in New York. I’ll see about making the trip there and we can talk business.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

We disconnect, and I lean against the post on Jack’s porch. It’s hot as fuck, but at least there’s a breeze. It’s always moving, keeping the stagnation at bay and carrying the scent of possibility.

“Are you going to give it a try?” Garrett sits across the table from me, and it’s the night of Dylan’s Dare dish.

“Aunt Deedee said Oliver Duck is going to pee his pants tonight!” Kimmie Joy jumps to her feet on the bench beside her uncle, climbing onto his back as he explodes with a laugh.

“Dylan said that?” Garrett squints over his shoulder at his niece.

The little girl’s lips press together. “I wasn’t supposed to repeat it. Aunt Dylan said, ‘Kimmie Joy! Don’t you dare repeat that!’”

She does a pretty good imitation of Dylan’s voice in her little-girl scold, and her uncle lets out another big laugh. Then he points at me.

“You’d better sit this one out, Buttercup. Don’t want to melt your face off again.”

“Don’t call me Buttercup,” I clap back. “Speaking of, what’s Dylan’s middle name?”

“Why?” Garrett frowns.

“Kimmie keeps calling her Deedee, and I was wondering…”

“Lynn.”

“So the extra D is for Danger?”

“Dylan Danger?” Garrett laughs more. “I love it.”

“Danger Dylan!” Kimmie shouts, hopping off her uncle and taking off in the direction of the kitchen.

I imagine she’s going to tell Dylan what I said, and I watch where she goes, hoping to catch a glimpse of her aunt. I’m starting to feel like Deedee might be avoiding me after our late-night near-kiss. She’s gone every morning before we get up.

I know she’s helping Jack with his daughter during camp, but I haven’t even seen her in the evenings.

Garrett gave me her number a few days ago—so I could text her to get him some Icy Hot from the store. I’ve thought about using it again to apologize. The only problem is, I don’t want to apologize. I’m only sorry for not kissing her.

Kimmie disappears around a corner, and my eyes go to the bar, where Craig is popping the tops off of longneck beers as fast as he can. It’s a busy night, and everyone seems to be humming with excitement over the new dish.

I’m about to say fuck it and just ask Garrett if he knows where his sister is when rainbow disco lights flash above the bar, and Craig pulls out a mic I didn’t know existed.

“Are you readyyy to get heated?” he announces in a Michael-Buffer, pro-wrestling style.

Whistles rip across the room, and some people shout. The door to the patio where the pool tables are located opens, and patrons stream into the diner as a line of waitresses in cutoffs and tank tops carry out large bowls of what looks like mac & cheese with an orangey crust.

“I love that guy.” Garrett laughs as Allie takes over on the mic.

“Tonight’s dish is experts-only, folks. Dylan brought the heat with a special Carolina Reaper mac & cheese!” A low roar ripples through the crowd. “In case you missed it, the Reaper is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the hottest pepper in the world. But if you still want more, Oliver Duck, she made this special sauce of pure Reaper to shake on top.”

Everybody laughs as Kimmie takes the bottle from Allie and marches with it to a table in the middle of the room where a teenage boy sits with his arms crossed and an obstinate expression on his face.

“We’ve mixed it with heavy whipping cream and cheese, but that doesn’t kill the burn,” she continues. “As always we have ice cream cups and tomato juice. Don’t use water or beer to put out the flames. Let’s do this!”

My chest tightens as Dylan emerges from the kitchen, and I feel like a kid seeing his favorite toy on Christmas morning. My jaw clenches, and I’m on my feet. Then the music changes to The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ classic “Give it Away.”

“Aw, shit,” Garrett growls from behind me, getting out of his seat. “Let’s do this!”

I think he’s going to get us a bowl of the fiery dish, which the waitresses are scooping as fast as they can into plastic cups, while wearing plastic gloves.

What I don’t expect is half of them to drop the utensils, remove the gloves, and climb onto the bar led by Craig now wearing a blond wig, horns, and metallic lipstick.

They’re all dancing to the music like some kind of sexy Coyote Ugly dance line, and I shout with a laugh when Garrett stomps out of the kitchen in his own platinum-blond wig. He hops onto the bar behind Craig and starts grinding along with them.

I make my way closer to the commotion, unable to hide my laughter. “What the hell?”

Garrett makes a motion like he’s slapping an invisible ass in front of him, and waitresses grind on each of his sides.

The entire restaurant is dancing, with some brave souls eating the mac & cheese dish and immediately yelling and shaking their heads. A few of the men run to the side bar where two teenagers are frantically passing out birthday-party-sized cups of vanilla ice cream.

I watch as a guy rips the lid off and holds it directly onto his tongue.

Dylan is bobbing side to side with Kimmie on her hip, her eyes glowing with laughter, and I’m drawn to her like steel to a magnet. Our eyes meet, and I forget about the bodies writhing around me. All I want is her.

She’s the flower, and I’m the bee.

It takes a minute to navigate the impromptu dance floor, but finally I reach her. We’re both smiling and breathing fast, and Kimmie wiggles to get onto the bar with her uncle.

Dylan turns to deposit the child on the counter, and Garrett sweeps her up at once. When she turns back, I reach up to slide a lock of wavy dark hair behind her ear. “Dance with me?”

Her cheeks warm attractively, and damn, I want to lean down and kiss her. Instead, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her soft body close to mine.

She clutches the top of my shoulder, and I have to lean down to spread my hand over her lower back. My other hand clasps hers, and I spin her around, making her laugh.

I wish I was skilled enough to lift her off her feet like Craig did in those old videos, but I’m not. Still, I’m content to hold her this way, her face glowing and my heart expanding in my chest.

It could be fucking Mardi Gras going on around us. All I know is we’re in the middle of the inferno, and I want to do nothing more than melt with her.

“Danger Dylan?” she shouts up to me, arching an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that why Kimmie calls you Deedee?” My hand tightens on her waist, and I love pressing her body against mine.

“No!” Her hand tightens on my shoulder. “I’m not sure why she started calling me that.”

“That’s why.”

“That’s not why!” A push from behind moves us closer to the bar.

It’s impossible to dance the way I want in this ruckus, but I’ve still got her. Her back is to the bar, and I’m leaning down. My nose traces against her hair, and she smells like lavender and vanilla. She feels like heaven.

“Are you hungry?”

Jesus. She has no idea.

Pressing my lips together, I don’t say what I’m thinking, even if it would go nicely with the chaos all around us. Give it away… Now. To me.

“I had some of the non-deadly mac and cheese.”

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“How much longer do you have to stay here?”

I want to take her home and find out where she’s been, what she’s been doing, how she’s been thinking and feeling. I want to see if she’ll let me kiss her this time.

“I could probably take off in an hour.”

A large hand grips the top of my shoulder, and I look up to see Garrett rotating his hips in time with the final beats of the song. “Get up here and dance, LL!”

I jump. Hell, I’d pretty much forgotten he was in the room. Good thing he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to us.

I hold up a hand and yell back, “Not me.”

“Dylan,” he warns, “don’t make me come down there and get you.”

“You know I don’t do all that.” The song ends, and a new one starts.

This time it’s INXS’s “I Need You Tonight,” and Cooters & Shooters is in full-on dance mode. I look around and everyone’s rotating their hips and singing along with the song.

Garrett bends down and lifts his sister onto the bar in one fluid motion. She lets out a little yelp, but now she’s standing above me, her muscular legs on full display, her ass barely covered in denim cutoffs, and her long hair swinging down her back.

“Dance!” Garrett orders, and she shrugs.

Then she lifts her arms over her head and starts to rotate her hips in a way that short-circuits my brain.

In her ballet videos, she was a girl—delicate, thin, and dainty as a Christmas snowflake. Now she’s all woman and pure sex.

She bends her knees and does a little hip thrust, and my dick springs to life in my jeans. Her tanned legs dip and flex, and her plump ass bounces in those shorts.

My lips are parted, and I’m surprised my tongue doesn’t roll out like one of those cartoons. My mind floods with images of all the dirty things we could do together. I need you tonight…

Everyone on the bar dances in time, including the two men in wigs, but she’s the only thing I see.

She turns around, her hips still moving to the beat, and when she turns back, her eyes are closed. Her chin lifts, and she raises her arms, rolling with the music and twisting her narrow waist. Her full tits bounce in time to the music, and that does it.

The last of my resistance goes up in flames.

“I’m sorry if I got a little dark on you last time we were together.” Dylan’s voice is soft, and we’re back at the house. She’s sitting across the bar from me in the kitchen, a pint of Guinness in her hand, and everyone’s gone to bed.

She’s amazing, and I’ve been on edge since her sexy dance on the bar. Holding her in my arms and swaying to the music was great, but she took it to the next level with her Coyote Ugly moves.

“I’ve never talked to anyone about what happened that day,” she continues, seeming oblivious to her effect on me. “Except, Craig, of course.”

“Your brothers never checked on you or asked how you were feeling?” I’m leaning on the cool granite across from her.

I want to extend my hand, slide my fingers up and down the soft skin of her forearm, wrap them around her wrist, and pull her to me.

“I think they felt guilty, Zane in particular, and maybe he thought it would make me feel worse if we talked about it.”

I consider her brother Zane, and his response to therapy. “Still, they should’ve asked if you were okay.”

“I can put on a pretty good show of taking things in stride.” Her voice isn’t as fragile tonight, and I’m glad. “I’m pretty good at pretending everything’s fine when inside I’m falling apart. I guess we all are.”

“It can be a relief to focus on what you’re good at, on the things you can control, instead of what you can’t.”

Her head tilts to the side. “You sound like you have experience with it. What fell apart on you?”

Exhaling, I take a chance, extending my hand across the bar in her direction. Her brothers are all in bed or at their own homes. It’s just the two of us, sharing like we always do after dark.

Now I’m reaching out for more, but she hesitates. I don’t move, giving her the chance to consider, to say yes or no, as every muscle in my body tenses.

Her amber eyes are on my hand, and her tongue touches her bottom lip. I know her fears, but I’m so far past wondering if this might be a mistake. She danced across that bar and stole my heart tonight, and I don’t care about the consequences.

I know she doesn’t date football players, and I know I’m asking her to bend her rules. At the same time, we’ve shared so much. It’s a risk, but something tells me this risk is worth taking.

This connection we share is different. It’s real. Things can change. We can change them together.

Seconds tick past. I’m on the razor’s edge of letting her go, chalking it up to what might have been, to nothing ventured, when she moves.

The air in my lungs stills as she slowly leans forward in her seat. She puts her elbows on the bar and lowers her pint glass.

Then, with her eyes fixed on my hand, she moves hers over it. My heart beats faster, and it requires all my control to take it easy. I turn my palm so hers slides against it, and I do my best to act casual, not like something monumental just happened.

What did she ask me? My experience with life falling apart.

“I would see my friends with their dads throwing the ball, laughing, going to movies. One friend’s dad took us to see the Spider-Man movie, and he was as into it as we were. Then I got home that night, and my house was empty.”

Her slim brows furrow, her hand still wrapped in mine. “How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“I’m so sorry, Logan. Didn’t you have anybody?” Her thumb moves lightly from the knuckle of my forefinger to my thumb, and I try to remember.

Have I ever had anyone until this moment?

“Yeah, ahh… I had a really nice housekeeper named Anita. She would bring me leftover cookies after her kids had birthday parties. I think she felt sorry for me.”

My gaze moves from our hands to her eyes, and she’s so sad.

“Shit,” I laugh. “And you thought you were dark. This is ridiculous. I want to kick my own ass right now.”

“Stop it. You’re not ridiculous. I hate that for you.”

Releasing her hand, I circle the bar so I can stand in front of her, between her legs. She’s still sitting in that chair, and her head is at my chest. I want to lift her onto the counter so our faces will be level. I want to lift her arms around my neck and kiss her like I’ve been dreaming of doing every damn night since I got here.

“Football became my family, and I became a dick.” Leaning down, I trace my nose along the side of her hair, inhaling her delicious scent.

Her breath quickens, and her hand is on my stomach again, half-heartedly holding me back. “Why do you do that?”

“To protect myself. I locked up my feelings, and I dated models or socialites who wouldn’t ask too much of me or get too close. If they did, I’d shut it down and move on. I wasn’t letting anyone hurt me again.”

I grew up to be exactly what my father taught me to be, cold and distant. Pursuing cold and distant relationships that wouldn’t challenge me.

I blamed the women for using me, for not caring enough, for only wanting to build their brand or steal a pinch of my stardom for themselves. The truth is, it was me. I chose them precisely because they wouldn’t ask for anything I didn’t want to give, and with each passing year, I turned into him more and more, growing more and more miserable as the years rolled by…

Until Garrett brought me here, to this place. To her.

“You have a pretty clear picture of yourself.”

“I didn’t until now.” Another hit of lavender. “Until you knocked me on my ass and burned all that shit out of me.”

“Stop it,” she laughs, pushing me gently. “I didn’t!”

“Garrett said seeing a real family would get my head straight, and he was right. I’m seeing a lot of things I didn’t know I wanted. Things I didn’t even know I was missing.”

“Logan,” she whispers, and the pressure of her hand against my stomach increases, as if she’ll make me stop.

Fuck, I don’t want to stop. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Her chin lifts, and our eyes meet. The pull between us is so strong, I swear it sparks. My entire body sparks. It’s a heat unlike anything I’ve felt—right up there with that ghost pepper I accidentally ate.

Her pink tongue touches her bottom lip, and my dick is fully hard in my jeans. “Is something stopping you?”

“Other than you?” I lean closer, tracing my lips lightly across her temple.

She shivers, and the fist in my chest tightens. I am hesitating because of her, and it’s not just her hand on my stomach.

Dylan is everything I want, from her sassy little attitude to her sexy little body. I love her humor and her caring, the way she takes care of her brothers and her niece and Craig and that restaurant. Even her obsession with those fucking killer peppers fascinates me.

I want to protect her from anything that might hurt her, and it fucking terrifies me. If I keep going down this road, I can only see two outcomes—I’ll come back with something real and lasting, or I’ll come back with permanent scars, more painful than the ones I already have.

“And if I wasn’t stopping you?” Her voice is sultry.

Our eyes meet, and I level with her. “I’ve never felt like this before, Dylan, and I’ll never forgive myself if I let you down.”

“How would you do that?”

I put my hand over hers on my stomach. “I’ve never had a good role model. I never saw how a good man is supposed to act, and you deserve the best kind of man.”

Her hand twitches as if she’ll pull it away. “So you’re not a good man?”

Memories of cold dinners filter through my mind, sitting on opposite ends of that long, polished table, longing for a relationship I’d never have.

“I want to be.” Lifting my chin, I look out the window at the night sky. “How much of a foregone conclusion is it that I’ll end up being exactly like my father?”

Her fingertips lightly touch my neck, and I look down at her pretty face. Understanding breaks in her eyes, and her smile is everything I want.

“I think you know who you’ll be.” Her tone is gentle. “Some things are either inside you or they’re not, like the love your mother gave you, even if you don’t remember it. I’ve seen you on the field with the boys, and you’re good with them. I’ve seen you with my niece, and you’re so sweet to her. It says a lot about a man when children and young people know they’re safe.”

Safe.

“There’s nothing safe in the way I feel about you.” The low growl in my voice flushes her pretty cheeks, and I lean closer. “The things I want to do to you scare me, but I swear to you right now, I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Not even me.”

Her hand rises to my cheek, and she places her thumb on my bottom lip. Her lips part, and she blinks slowly. “If you don’t kiss me now, I might hurt you.”

A hungry laugh lingers on my breath as I close the space between us, covering her mouth with mine.

She whimpers softly, and I lift her out of that chair, moving her ass to the counter. I’m between her legs, and I wrap one arm around her narrow waist. The other I use to cradle her head.

My fingers slide into the side of her hair, and my thumb is on her chin. Pulling it down, I open her mouth so I can taste her. Our tongues curl together, and a little explosion goes off in my brain.

She’s rich chocolate and spicy pepper. She’s lavender and vanilla and the ocean and the sky. She’s every beautiful thing I’ve ever wanted in my life.

Her legs wrap around my waist, and my cock is a steel rod against her core. My hand moves from her waist to her ass, and I cup it, squeezing and moving her against me. I want her to feel my desire. I want it to set her on fire the way she’s burning inside of me. I want to make her come.

“Logan,” she gasps, lifting her chin as my mouth slides down her neck.

I pull her skin with my teeth, and she whimpers. Her nipples are stiff little points in her shirt, and I slide my palm over one, circling my thumb over it through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. Her body jumps, and her legs tighten on my waist.

“Oh,” she gasps, and her mouth is on mine again.

Her hand is behind my neck, and she’s kissing me now. Her fingers thread in my hair, and she pulls. It sends a rush of sensation prickling through my arms. I can’t need her more than this without acting on it.

My chest rises and falls rapidly, and I manage to stop myself from consuming her right here on the bar in this kitchen.

“I want you so much, Dylan. I want to fuck you all night and have you begging for more. I want to take you through that door and pull you onto my lap. I want to watch your breasts bounce as you ride me, then I want to lift and devour them. I want to squeeze your ass and taste your pussy until you scream my name.”

Her eyes are dark, and she’s breathing fast. Her full lips are parted and swollen, and it’s almost more than I can take. It’s physically painful when her hand moves to my chest and she shakes her head.

“We can’t do this here.” She slides off the bar, not meeting my eyes. “Not yet. We’re tired, and we need to rest. We can talk more tomorrow. Goodnight, Logan.”

She leaves me standing in the kitchen, practically running to the stairs. I’m breathing like the wind has been knocked out of me, like I’m standing with every nerve ending in my body activated.

I do the only thing I can. Turning on my heel, I go straight to my bedroom, pushing the door closed as I strip out of my clothes and go to the shower. I flick the water on hot, grab the conditioner and put some on my hand. Then I grip my cock.