Game Changer, page 11
"Don’t listen to him, Jay. This guy loves the limelight. He eats it up." Landry starts clearing the table, giving his son room to sit down.
The only problem is that the chair he vacated is right next to me. Jason hesitates for a split second, and that’s all it takes for his father to start busting his chops.
"She doesn’t bite, Jay. I promise." He ribs his son as Julie shakes her head at her husband.
Jason plunks himself into the chair, giving me a shy smile. He seems like a good kid. From what I can gather, Landry and Julie are doing a heck of a job raising him. I can just imagine what it must be like rearing a teenage boy with a dad who has such a high-profile job. I bet the guys at school either give him grief about it or try to worm their way into being his friend. It’s sad, but I’m sure there aren’t many of his peers he can trust.
I remember what it was like for Kyle once Matt made it to the majors. People at school either would badger him for autographs or had no problem telling him how much his brother sucked. He was usually caught between two extremes. There was no middle ground. It wasn’t as bad for me because most girls my age didn’t follow baseball. Half of them didn’t even know the difference between an infielder and an outfielder much less what team my brother was on.
"So what’s this your mom was saying about mudding?" I turn toward Jason, hoping to put him at ease by talking about something he’s into.
"Oh, it’s the best, Sasha!" Brooks exclaims, immediately seeing where I’m going with this, helping me relieve Jason’s anxiety. "You hop on a four-wheeler and drive it through these big-ass puddles until you’re covered in mud."
"But it looks like it hasn’t rained in weeks. Where are we going to find these big-ass puddles?" I pose the question, hoping Jason will be the one who answers it.
"Down by the creek bed," he replies, coming out of his shell. "Dad has some irrigation ditches down there, but the pipes always leak, creating a lot of wet spots. We’ll definitely be able to find some mud."
"Sasha, are you sure you’re up to it? I don’t know if it’s such a good idea, what with your head and all," Julie frets, twisting her hands in front of her.
Jason’s smile falters at his mother’s display of caution.
"She can ride with me," Brooks chimes in. "This way, if she gets tired or the jostlin’ gets to be too much for her, I can bring her right back. We’ll take it easy. We won’t go as crazy as we usually do. Right, Jay?"
"Absolutely!" Jason responds, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to hang out with us.
"All right, but be careful," Landry intones. "If one of you gets hurt, Tony will have my head and Terry will have my balls."
"Terry’ll have your balls," Taylor repeats, banging her spoon against her cereal bowl.
"Taylor Louise Landry!" Julie cries out, mortified.
I kind of like being a part of the Landry family.
***
Brooks has the engine running as I shove Jason’s old Ghost Rider helmet on top of my head.
I’m the only one wearing any type of protective headgear, and I’d so much rather have my hair loose and blowing in the breeze, but Brooks isn’t having any of it. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to have to play by the rules. There’s no getting around it.
Julie lent me a pair of her worn-out jeans with holes in the knees and one of her oversized Kings T-shirts, warning me that I was going to get filthy, so there was no point in showering until we got back. She said that I’d still be finding dried flecks of mud in random areas on my body for days to come, but that was the fun of mudding.
Yet that’s not what has me holding back as I stand there and stare at Brooks. It’s the thought of wrapping my arms around him and hanging on for dear life. We’ve barely touched each other since I showed up in New York. We almost had a moment that night in Kyle’s old apartment, but nothing came of it. He did sweep me off my feet in Baltimore, but I was too traumatized to enjoy it.
This is something else entirely. We’re going out in the middle of nowhere, where no one can see us but our thirteen-year-old chaperone. Anything can happen—and I kind of hope that it does.
Brooks pats the back of the seat, beckoning me toward the four-wheeler he’s astride. Jason squeezes the throttle and does a lap around the barn, impatient to get going. But I’m glad he’s giving us a minute as I slide my leg over and ease myself down next to Brooks. He stiffens ever so slightly when I run my hands down his shoulders, unsure of where he wants me to hold on to him. I bite my lower lip, feeling the broad expanse of his back. He takes one hand off the clutch, reaching for mine and positioning it around his waist before doing the same with the other. My fingernails inadvertently graze his taut abs when my clasped hands cause his shirt to ride up over his belt, and I feel warm all over.
My body responds to the closeness of his, that telltale quiver shooting through me. My knees automatically knock against the back of his as I press myself up against him from behind. He rises off the seat a little bit, taking me with him as he readjusts himself before guiding our hips back into place. His muscles tense as he grips the handlebars, gunning the engine. The wind rushes by as Jason comes up alongside us before taking the lead. Brooks doesn’t show him any mercy as he barrels down on him, intent on catching him.
My hands move up higher as I thread my fingers through the bottom of Brooks’s shirt, pulling it until it’s skintight against him. I wouldn’t say that I’m scared exactly, but going thirty-five miles per hour out in the open feels a hell of a lot faster than it does in a car.
The terrain is smooth as we fly parallel to the creek bed. Brooks seems to know where the designated finish line is as he gives it more gas, making a last-ditch effort to outpace Jason. But Jason’s too fast as he roars by us, pumping his fist in the air and claiming victory.
"Almost!" Brooks shouts over to him, coming to a halt.
"Not bad for an Okie." Jason smiles back at him.
"I’ll whip your Texas hide one of these days. It’s only a matter of time." Brooks chuckles, and I feel the tingle of his laughter all through me.
"Now for the fun part." Jason doesn’t even wait; he turns and dives straight into the nearest puddle, splattering himself from head to toe.
"Are you ready to get dirty?" Brooks says seductively, placing his hand atop mine and settling his backside against my wide-open thighs.
In response, I slide my ankles over his, locking our legs together. He groans, muttering something I can’t quite decipher. Being wrapped around him with the vibration of the engine between my legs is doing all kinds of things to me—things I never dreamed possible.
I breathe heavily against his ear, wishing I didn’t have this damn helmet on. Irritated, I stretch my jaw against the chinstrap. All I can think about is raining a trail of kisses down the nape of his neck. I lean forward, but I can’t get my lips close enough.
I try to collect myself when Jason roars up next to us, splashing us with mud. The sexual tension must be driving Brooks crazy too. He shifts against me, frustrated with Jason for interrupting whatever was going on between us. He peels out, and my stomach drops when we dip into the mud hole, a tidal wave of dirty water hitting us dead on. All it takes is one pass and we’re completely drenched. Brooks starts hooting and hollering and I can’t help but laugh as the country boy inside of him resurfaces. He doesn’t have to be suave and sophisticated. Here he’s not the star shortstop of the New York Kings—he’s just Brooks. He can let loose, be himself. Just like he was that night on the beach…
I yell right along with him as we make run after run, tearing up the muck and having the time of our lives. It feels good to be able to play and fool around like we’re kids again, the stress of everything going on just melting away. We’re light. We’re free. We’re together. And that’s why it feels so good. That big chunk of my life that felt like it was missing has slid back into place. With him, I feel whole again. For the first time in a long time, I’m where I’m supposed to be with the person I’m supposed to be with.
***
Jason darts into the house the minute we get back to the ranch.
I hate having to let go of Brooks. I’d stay pressed against him all day long if I could. He seems to sense it as he slows down, taking the long way around, sticking to the dirt road instead of cutting across the property like Jason did. He wants to drag this out just as much as I do.
As we get nearer, I see Julie waving us over to the side of the house. She shouts so we can hear her. "I left you some clean clothes in the cabana where the sauna is. If I know Jason, he’ll use up all the hot water until there’s nuthin’ left for either of you. So I thought you might wanna use the shower down there and kick back and relax a little. Or else Jason will have you running all over creation with him. I put some sandwiches and ice-cold drinks out if you’re hungry."
I heart Julie. It’s like she can read my mind, giving me some much-needed alone time with Brooks. Texas just keeps getting better and better.
Brooks nods to her and takes off toward the back of the property. He seems to know his way around here pretty well. I guess he’s stayed with Landry a lot. I kind of like that he knows the lay of the land. If I allow myself to go there, I can picture the two of us having a place of our own like this someday.
Brooks pulls up next to a wood-paneled building, and kills the engine. The incessant hum is silenced, and my ears start to ring. Brooks sighs deeply, bending his head, and my intertwined hands rise and fall with the motion of his ribs. His hand comes to rest on mine, one of his large enough to encompass both of mine. The rest of him doesn’t move as his thumb draws lazy circles against my wrists. But I have much more important things in mind, and I don’t intend to waste a moment of the precious time we’ve been granted.
I release my hold on him, and he groans, so I massage his shoulders for a second, kneading out the tension before I swing my leg over the side of the four-wheeler. I’m a little stiff as I straighten my back and wait for him to get off. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he reaches over to unfasten and remove my helmet.
"What’s so funny? Do I have a horrendous case of hat hair or something?" I tease as he moves in even closer, causing my heart to race.
He licks his finger, bringing it to the tip of my nose and wiping off a smudge of dirt I didn’t even know was there.
"You look so cute when you’re covered in mud," he says, his voice rough with desire.
He takes my hand and guides me inside, shutting the door and bolting it. The sheer indication of what that implies makes my pulse go erratic. He’s breathing heavily too as he coaxes me against the wall, slowly guiding me backward with his hand on my waist. There’s dried mud in his hair, on his face, on his clothes. It’s everywhere, and I can imagine it’s probably all over me too. But all I see is him—his heaving chest, his day-old stubble, the darkening blue of his eyes.
The inside walls are lined with polished stone, and they feel cold and smooth against my back, causing me to shiver. Landry spared no expense in making this a first-rate spa. It screams luxury and decadence. Who knew an oasis like this could exist in the middle of a Texas ranch? The trickle of running water from a nearby fountain immediately brings me back to the roar and crash of the surf that night we spent on the beach. The last time he caressed my body. The last time he gave me what I wanted. The last time he kissed me…
How much I’ve longed to get back to that place with him—that sense of carefree abandon and absolute freedom we felt in the Caribbean. It didn’t matter who my brother was. It didn’t matter that we were leading two separate lives that seemed impossible to connect. It was just us—living in the moment, giving ourselves to each other wholly and completely. I wanted him then, just like I want him now. He’s it for me. No one can satisfy me but him.
He tilts my head, running his thumb across my cheekbone, staring down at me. I know he wants this just as much as I do. I’m sure of it. There’s no denying what his eyes are conveying. This should have happened a long time ago. I don’t know how we survived waiting this long. He’s all I’ve been able to think about since that stolen night in Jamaica. I have to feel his lips on mine again. If I don’t, I won’t be able to go on. I need him more than I’ve ever needed anyone.
I rise up on my toes, spreading my palms flush against his chest. I’m not waiting for him. Not this time. I tug at his mud-encrusted shirt, not letting up until his face is even with mine. I don’t hesitate. I devour his lips, twining my arms around his neck, pulling him as close to me as I can. He moans deeply, sending shockwaves through my body. The way he reacts stirs something primal inside me.
He tastes salty, gritty even, as he opens his mouth to me, the dried traces of the earth mixing with the sweat of his brow. It’s a totally new sensation from the clean-cut Brooks I kissed over a year ago, then the crispness of his aftershave blended with the honey sweetness of his lips. Now, this new side of him is proving to be just as arousing but in a different kind of way. His sheer masculinity is coming through, turning me on as I run my fingers through his messy hair, smiling when I make him groan against my mouth.
Our kiss intensifies as his hands start to roam my body, lingering alongside my breasts. The front of my chest is pressed firmly against his, giving him little room to maneuver. If he wants more, he’s going to have to take it, because there’s no way I’m letting up my assault on his mouth. I yearn for him to ravage me and take what he wants. He’s a Southern gentleman to a T, but now I don’t want him to be polite. I want him all over me.
He moans again, this time with more ferocity behind it. He twists my hair around his fingers, yanking it back. I’m breathless before him, panting as he hovers over me. That heady sense of anticipation fills the air as he removes my shirt in one swift movement. Yes, this is what I want. This is exactly what I want.
He gazes at me boldly, letting me know that he intends to claim what is his. We both know what it means to go without each other—those sleepless nights we spent alone in our beds miles apart, tossing and turning, yearning for this, dreaming of this, praying for this.
He fumbles with my bra clasp, unable to get it open. It’s driving him wild, but I’m glad that he’s not good at it. His lack of dexterity proves to me that he hasn’t done it a million times before. I don’t know if he’s been with other women since Jamaica, but I’d like to believe that he hasn’t. It would make this so much sweeter.
I still his trembling hands and unhook the clasp, slowly lowering the straps from my shoulders. He’s never seen me like this, and he takes a moment, his eyes lingering on the tiny swells of my breasts, making me feel that they’re enough, that they’re erotic and desirable. He takes a shaky breath before getting to his knees, lowering me onto the floor with him.
I take the opportunity to pull his shirt up and over his head, flinging it aside. He fusses until his head is free of the collar, his vision of my body no longer obstructed. I feel that ache grow in my belly, loving how he refuses to take his eyes off of me, even for a moment. There’s something so hot about being wanted that way, like his insatiable need is on the brink of being satisfied and he’s not going to let anything get in his way of enjoying every minute of this.
I only hope our pile of discarded clothing keeps growing because I don’t intend to stop until we’re both naked on the floor. I saw him shirtless many times in Jamaica, at the hotel pool, when we went cliff diving, but nothing compares to the perfection I’m gazing upon now. He’s even more ripped than he was before, if that’s even possible. I let my thoughts run in a naughty direction, imagining Brooks throwing himself headlong into a strenuous exercise routine, trying to curb his sexual frustration from not having me in his bed. I like imagining that he punished his body for me, torturing it into such spectacular shape, hoping that one day I’d be able to appreciate his efforts.
I trace the lines of his abs, gazing up at him, letting him know that I like what I see. He flinches beneath my fingertips, his muscles rippling in response. He’s so beautiful that I could cry. Having him here before me trumps any fantasy I might have created in my head about us when we were apart. He’s everything I could ever desire and more. I just want to be with him one time, even if we have to wait two months before we’ll be able to touch each other again. I won’t be denied. I have to have him. Right here, right now.
His hands grip my shoulders, encouraging me to lean back as his lips skim the length of my neck before exploring the dip in my breasts. I cry out when he teases me with his tongue. I’m ready to give him whatever he wants for making me feel this good.
"Brooks? Sasha?"
My head pops up at the sound of Landry’s voice behind the door.
"What is it?" Brooks roars, not bothering to hide his annoyance at being disturbed. "We’re kinda in the middle of something here."
"Sorry, man, but Terry sent over a bunch of reporters—ESPN, Sports Illustrated, you name it. He wants them to interview Sasha." I can see the shadow of Landry’s form behind the frosted glass, and my cheeks redden, realizing that he’s fully aware of the compromising position he’s catching us in.
When we don’t respond, Landry turns around but keeps talking, "You know what a prick Terry is. He’d never give Sasha a day off. Not completely."
"Give us a minute. We gotta get cleaned up first." The way Brooks says that sends a shiver down my spine. Landry can easily jump to the conclusion that we had sex even though we didn’t.
"Well, get a move on," Landry says, lowering his voice.
"I won’t be rushed when it comes to taking care of my girl," Brooks replies, looking deep into my eyes.
It’s kind of sexy to hear Brooks staking his claim on me. I trace my finger along the inside rim of his waistband and enjoy seeing him twitch, watching his eyes flutter closed and his hips shift toward me. We were so close this time, only to be interrupted by yet another member of the New York Kings. I should be disappointed, but watching how my slightest touch along his most sensitive area is driving him wild is satisfying to me on a level I never thought possible. I never knew I was capable of doing this to a man, but seeing Brooks respond to me like this? Well, I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off him.
