Madi sat up, brows drawn, arms crossing beneath her perfect breasts. “You get back here and finish what you started, Zeus, or so help me…”
“Oh, Hera, you sass the wrong god, my queen. Better not finish that statement.” He shook his finger at her. “Whose bed is that?” Madi simply huffed back, and Brett ate it all up. “That’s right. Zeus will have you when he wants you, and unfortunately, our fun will have to continue later.”
“Is that so?” Madi’s brow cocked, and it was all he could do not to jump back into bed and beg her to lash him with that delicious tongue of hers. “Well then, Zeus, two can play your little game.”
With that, she threw the covers off and began gathering her robe.
Brett chuckled and said, “Hate to see ya go, darlin,’ but love to watch you leave.” It was true since her tight little ass was utterly bitable, and he couldn’t wait to have her apologizing for her behavior later.
Yes, indeed Brett McFadden was fully awake and fully alive. Now to go continue that streak on the field. He laughed as he moved into the bathroom to shower.
“Again,” Haskins huffed and growled at Brett.
Dammit, couldn’t Haskins see this wasn’t working? Why did Brett and his offensive coordinator clash so? If he’d have watched any of Quillan’s game highlights he would have seen that Quil moved best from the left, not the right. This was the fourth time they’d ran the same route, and Quil hadn’t even come close to catching the bullets Brett had thrown him. Quil was off. Or was it Brett?
He was anxious, highly anxious. He thought he could do this. He thought he could just come onto this field, start running plays, and everything would be back to normal. Well, dammit it wasn’t and Brett wasn’t sure when or if it would be.
Some of it was Brett’s guilt. Not only was he still feeling guilty for driving the damn McLaren, he’d gone and messed around with Hunter’s wife last night and now he was sure he was seeing him on this very field.
It was if Hunt were standing in the end zone, out of the corner of Brett’s eye, flashes of that damn jersey—number 83. Hunt was mocking him, haunting him, harassing him for taking the life he’d left behind. Brett had just swooped in after all and taken his place, right?
Brett’s stomach tightened as he called for the snap from his center, caught the ball hiked to him from the shotgun position, and pivoted his right leg out waiting for Quil to get downfield. His right arm came up, and that’s when Quil’s practice jersey morphed from an 87 to an 83. Brett panicked and moved back a step or two. The sun was playing tricks on him. It couldn’t be Hunt. When Quil turned, it was indeed a three not a seven, and Brett’s arm fell, defeated.
The ball fell from his grasp onto the turf, and he just stared back down field.
Hunter was waving his arms, ready for the catch that would never come again.
Brett watched with bated breath. He had so much to say to his best friend. So many things to apologize for. So many wrongs to right. But it was too late, and slowly reality set in as Quillan Layton ran back to Brett and pulled his helmet off.
“Brett?” he asked, frowning. “You alright, man?”
“What happened?” Josh asked, looking down at the football on the turf.
“What the fuck, McFadden?” Haskins growled, coming over to them.
“I can’t do this right now.” Brett moved quickly away from the two of them, toward the tunnel.
He was going to be sick.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Madi grinned as she looked out onto the field from her desk. It was good to see Brett back in his element, even if it were bittersweet. Hunt would be proud, Hunt would be excited, and Hunt would be glad that Madi was finally starting to move forward with her life. Brett had nodded when she’d asked if Hunter had known about Brett’s feelings for her. Madi wasn’t sure how or when he’d known; maybe he’d known all along. But it didn’t really matter because she was happy, and she knew deep down that Hunter would be happy for her too. It had been four months since his death, and she was finally starting to be able to talk about it and not have her insides rip when she said his name aloud to others.
Last night had seemed like a dream, being tied to the bed, and having the man she’d secretly desired most her life kissing, licking, sucking, and touching every part of her was an erotic fantasy come true. There was a small part of her that felt guilty moving into another man’s bed so soon after her husband’s death, but it was Brett; it felt right and so damn good having him do those things to her. And, she reminded herself, they hadn’t had intercourse. Hell, close enough, her brain reminded her. She blushed as her father entered her office, so glad he couldn’t read her mind.
“Hey Dad,” she said as she looked up from the computer screen where she was working on budget totals.
“Hey, pumpkin, wanna do lunch?”
“Oh, Brett was gonna…” she trailed off blushing again and her dad looked away with a smirk.
“You and Brett are together a lot lately, I see.”
Madi just nodded; she didn’t know what to say to that. It was true after all. They spent almost every waking moment together. “Is that a bad thing?” she wondered aloud then frowned when her dad shook his head shocked the words had actually come to her lips.
“Not at all. I’m glad to see you really smile again.” He took her hand and his gray eyes burned into her own. Her father was a handsome man; his once blonde hair had turned white along with his mustache, but he was spry for a man of
