Draw Play - Jami Davenport Page 0,14

from living with Tyler for the past year.

“Wait till we’re done with you. We’re gonna knock his cleats off. You’ll have him begging for mercy.” Kelsie eyed her with the certainty of the beauty pageant star she’d once been.

“I don’t want him begging. So I think he’s hot. That doesn’t mean I want to screw his brains out.”

“Of course you do. What single woman wouldn’t want a big bite of what he’s selling?”

On that note, the women ignored her. Lavender raised her wineglass. “Hey, girls, now we’re really on a mission, not just to help Mac’s career but to cast a line and get that big fish to bite.” The she-wolves clinked their glasses together.

Mac didn’t know whether to be horrified or encouraged.

* * * * *

Bruiser dried off his wet body and wrapped the towel around his waist. He dropped down on the bench in front of his locker and checked his messages. Nothing unexpected. He was meeting Chelsea and Sondra for drinks and entertainment tonight. A slow smile spread across his face at the thought of the two BFFs and the fun they’d had together last time. Those crazy-assed women just about sent him to an early grave with a big smile on his face. And here he’d thought he’d been in shape. After they’d finished with him, he’d slept for twelve hours.

Bruiser stared in the mirror hanging in his locker and ran a comb through his blond hair, wishing he had dark hair like Harris, or a mean look like Zach, or even a guy-next-door face like Derek. Hell no, he looked like a fucking movie star, and he fucking hated it.

Well, mostly. He did appreciate the perks, especially the female ones.

He sighed and pushed a wayward lock off his forehead, making sure his hair was perfect. He couldn’t help it; he did care how he looked. He had a brand to maintain.

He glanced around to find Brett staring at him. Last year, they’d accidentally discovered a mutual love of fishing, after which they spent hours together on Puget Sound and area lakes fishing for whatever happened to be biting. As a result, Bruiser became close friends with the quiet backup quarterback, and Bruiser didn’t have many close friends by his own choice. Neither did Brett.

Brett had the locker next to him and sat down, pulling on his shoes. “Looking forward to the barbecue?”

“What do you think?” Bruiser shrugged it off.

“You’re a prick, Mackey. You wouldn’t know a good woman if she landed in your lap.”

“Hey, I’m not looking for a good woman—just the opposite. Good women expect commitments, and I’m not that guy.”

Brett ran his fingers through his wet hair. “I wish I were taking her.”

“So do I. Remind me again how I got roped into this?”

Brett ignored the question. “I bet she’ll look great.”

“Hope so.” Bruiser frowned. “My future depends on my ability to market myself, and Mac isn’t, well, exactly my normal date.” He rubbed his chin for a moment. “Think she’s gay?”

“No more than you are.”

“You have a point.” Bruiser had battled that label himself, just because he took care of his appearance and dressed in expensive clothes. Truthfully, he hated shopping, but it was all part of his persona. He played the part. The ladies loved how he looked, and men wanted to be him, which put money in his endorsers’ pockets and, in turn, Bruiser’s pockets.

“Besides, you got the hots for her, not me.” Well, except for some recurring erotic fantasies, and he didn’t have a clue where they were coming from. Maybe he’d grown as weary of his Barbie-doll dates as he had of modeling.

Brett cleared his throat, suddenly looking nervous. “I have to warn you.”

“Warn me? About Mac?” Bruiser snorted out a laugh.

“Uh. Not exactly. I saw your mom a few days ago.”

Bruiser stiffened. “Did you get your hair cut?” Brett was the only teammate who’d ever met his family. Bruiser’s mother and sister owned a hair salon on the peninsula. Brett had been going there for a year. Bruiser wouldn’t let them touch his hair. He preferred to get it cut at a trendy salon in Bellevue rather than in his mother’s pink and purple monument to poor taste.

“Yup. Eunice and Shanna said they haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I know.” Bruiser swallowed back the guilt. He sent them money once a month to help pay for the salon expenses rather than visiting them, as if that replaced him. His mother, Eunice, had left five messages on his