Guarding the Quarterback (Champions of the Heart #1), Page 3

  “Oh come on, it’s not like hundreds of women haven’t seen it before.”

  “Not hundreds.” Why did it bother me that she came across the dick pic, when just five minutes ago I’d been fantasying about her mouth swallowing me whole?

  “What’s the problem? You’re obviously proud of it.” She paused, tapping the phone on her chin. “Or is not yours?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “It’s mine. I was drunk.”

  Reeves laughed, and while I loved the throaty sound, I hated that it was at my expense. I hoped she was laughing at my stupidity and not at my dick. Why did I even fucking care what her opinion of it was or her general opinion of me?

  “Next time use Snapchat.” She smacked the phone to my chest and let go before walking away. I fumbled but caught it before it hit the floor. “And using the number of your jersey as a security code is dumber than one of your blonde bimbos.”

  Fuck. What the hell was going on? Worst-case scenario, my bad boy behavior would cause her to quit. Best-case, she’d fall into my bed and be forced to resign. Yet here she was lecturing me like I was some hormonal teenager. For some reason that’s exactly how I felt around her.

  It had been so long since I’d had to work at getting a girl that I was clearly out of practice. I’d have to put in some overtime to get Reeves on my team.

  And what the hell was her first name?

  Chapter 4

  Alexa

  What an ass. But what a penis.

  The shock of coming across the photo of his privates had quickly turned to interest, then to throbbing want. I needed to be away from him and the image of what he packed inside his form-fitting khakis—and oh, the good lord, those Superman boxers he’d worn earlier. More like Supercock.

  I escaped to tour the apartment to determine if there were any security issues to be addressed.

  Thanks to building safety codes, windows up this high were not made to be opened. Sleek and modern, the living room lacked warmth, which didn’t surprise me. Dean was about as warm and fuzzy as a porcupine. The dining room and kitchen looked unused. I took a quick peek inside the fridge. A box of five dozen eggs, multiple containers from a local health food caterer, and a six-pack of beer took up the space. Looked like I’d be ordering in for the duration of my stay.

  I headed to the hallway to search the rest of the apartment.

  “I’m leaving in five minutes,” Dean notified me as I passed by him. “I’ll text my agent to send you my schedule.”

  “I need that key,” I instructed over my shoulder. Was he checking out my ass? My heel slid on the floor as I transitioned from carpet to the marble tile, and I stumbled.

  “Careful, it’s slippery.”

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Before he could make a stinging comeback, I ducked into the first room off the hallway. The second bedroom had been converted into a state-of-the-art gym. A few trophies lined a shelf, and a hall of fame of photos hung on the wall. While I was glad I’d be able to get in my workouts, I’d be surrounded by Dean’s image. Dean with famous athletes. Dean with celebrities. Dean. Dean. Dean.

  I lingered longer than I should have, putting off the recon of his bedroom. Would it be as sterile as the rest of the house or as virile as his body promised?

  I turned to leave, but Dean blocked the exit, placing his hands on either side of the doorframe. A key dangled from one of his fingers. He smelled clean with a hint of spice and leather. The scent tickled my nose and other places that hadn’t felt a tingle in months. The biceps that powered long passes stretched the fabric of the short-sleeved polo shirt as he flexed. Underneath, I knew his six-pack abs were honed to a chiseled work of art worthy of a special exhibit in a museum.

  Oslo and Williams were broader and meatier than Dean, but my coworkers didn’t make me feel small. Like a female. Like a woman.

  I hated how weak I felt around him. I couldn’t let on how much he affected me. “Excuse me,” I said sharply.

  “Now is that a nice way to talk to your boyfriend?”

  “Pretty please,” I said with none of the sweetness the phrase called for.

  “Not feeling it. Tell me your first name and I’ll let you pass.”

  Dean’s satanic smile created a sinful thrum through my body. “Why?”

  “I like to be on a first-name basis with women who have seen my dick.”

  I would have laughed, but his feathery touch on my cheek caused every bone in my body to melt. I caught myself before I stepped closer to him.

  “And as your boyfriend, I can’t be calling you by your last name.”

  “Pretend boyfriend,” I sputtered. “Pretend,” I repeated, more to remind myself than to remind him.

  “Of course. But we each have a role to play.” Dean placed the key in my hand, then trailed a finger over my wrist. “You look the part, but can you act like my girlfriend?”

  “All in a day’s work,” I said with more bravado than I felt. What the hell was wrong with me? Dean was a client. Protecting him was an assignment, not a chance to act out a role-playing fantasy of quarterback and cheerleader. As if I ever wanted to be a cheerleader.

  “You know as my pretend girlfriend, you’ll have to pretend to like me?”

  That wouldn’t be the problem at all. I liked him. Well, not like, but lust. Oh hell, yes. Lots and lots of lust. And I could blame the blush in my cheeks and my googly eyes on my acting skills. “It will take an Academy Award winning performance.”

  “And the Oscar goes to…?”

  I bit my lip. Just tell him. It’s just a name. My reluctance was bordering on cowardice, and I hated being a coward. “Alexa.”

  “Alexa.” His voice lowered, husky yet with a touch of velvety smoothness. Seductive. “It suits you. Beautiful and tough.”

  Beautiful? Now who was acting? And he had to be acting. But his eyes mirrored my want.

  “Um, don’t you have to be at practice?” Please, anywhere or anything just to get away from his dominating presence.

  I should have backed away, but I wouldn’t let him win this little power play. From an early age I’d acted bigger than my size. I was fearless, but he made me afraid. Not in the physical sense, but on an emotional level that was as foreign to me as the clothes I was wearing.

  “Yes, I do.” He leaned in. “You make a man forget himself.”

  He wasn’t the only one who was forgetting themselves. I was his bodyguard, not his lover, yet the desire to meet him the rest of the way for the kiss he was teasing me for almost overwhelmed me. But that’s all it was, a tease. Worse yet, a test. Oh, God. What if his come-on was some elaborate plan to put me in a compromising position?

  I laughed and threw in a snort. “Seriously, Dean, who falls for those kind of lines?”

  Dropping his other hand from the doorframe, he dragged his fingers through his short hair. “Fuck, let’s go.”

  I was relieved when he gave up first because I was one breath away from giving in, of crossing that line and kissing him into a state of amnesia. Before leaving, I texted the security team that we were on the move. The recon of his bedroom would have to wait.

  We rode in silence down the elevator. I reveled in the stillness, knowing once we hit the street I was going to have a fight on my hands when he found out that I was also his driver.

  Raising a brow, Dean mockingly bowed as he held the door. I swept by since I needed to be ahead of him to watch out for anything suspicious as we left the building. I tapped my ear as an all okay signal to Dubois, who was watching from a surveillance van.

  We dashed across the one-way street to the multi-level garage, but I placed myself between him and any car that might screech out from a parking space.

  Walking right by his Porsche, I said, “Our ride is this way.”

  Dean stopped. “Mine will be faster.”

  “Is it bulletproof?”

  “No.”

  “Then we take my vehicle.”

  He obediently followed, but said, “Give me the keys.”


  “Did you train with the CIA?”

  “The Culinary Institute?”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Come on, that was funny.”

  I hit the remote for the locks and engine starter as we approached Ian’s Security’s pimped-out Cadillac Escalade, surprised that I didn’t get more of an argument when I climbed behind the wheel.

  I darted in and out of the traffic, checking the rearview mirror from time to time for a possible tail.

  “Will you slow the fuck down?”

  “And you said your Porsche would be faster. Hah.”

  “I wasn’t aware I’d be driving with Danica Patrick.”

  “It’s called evasive driving.” Okay, so I was driving a little erratically, but I needed the distraction to get his dick pic out of my brain. The fact that I was in charge of protecting a guy who took pictures of his genitals should have disgusted me. Instead I was disgusted with myself for dwelling on it—for being utterly fascinated by it.

  I cut off a cab and shot between two busses.

  “Jesus, I thought you were supposed to protect me, not kill me.”

  “Don’t be such a drama queen.” I smiled, but I slowed up a bit. “We need to work on our cover story.”

  “What do you mean?” Dean relaxed into his seat.

  “How we met, for starters.”

  “Strip club?”

  I gave him a side-eyed glance. “Too cliché.”

  “Bible study?”

  I didn’t take my eyes off the road, but I could actually feel his smile.

  “Now that would really ruin your reputation, wouldn’t it?” I took the turn for the tunnel out of the city. His deep laughter rumbled through the SUV and through my body. In the darkness of the tunnel, I shifted in my seat. “Let’s keep it simple,” I said.

  Dean stroked his beard. “I know. We’ll say my sister introduced us.”

  “Trudy in California?”

  “Jesus. How do you—never mind.”

  He wouldn’t be happy to find out I had a dossier on Dean Walker that would impress the FBI. We spent the rest of the way going over the cover story.

  He directed me to the players parking area, and I pulled up to the curb by the entrance. I notified Oslo of our arrival, and he gave me the all clear.

  “What are you going to be doing while I’m at practice?” asked Dean.

  “I didn’t take you for a controlling boyfriend.”

  “Whoa, I’m not…” Then he noticed my smile. “You should do that more often.”

  “Smile?”

  “Yes, it makes you look…”

  Pretty?

  “…human,” he said.

  Oh. “I’ll pick up you after practice. Oslo or Williams will text me.”

  “Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?”

  His eyes were full of mischief, but just the thought of his lips on mine created mayhem inside my body.

  “No need. Nobody is looking.” Thank God. I didn’t think I was quite ready for that part of the act.

  “Couldn’t hurt to practice,” he teased. Or maybe he wasn’t.

  “I think we both know you don’t need any practice.” I tried to keep my tone light, even though sarcasm burned on the tip of my tongue.

  “What about you? Do you need practice? A rehearsal?”

  I shook my head. “Just two pair of lips coming together. No big deal.”

  “Baby doll, then you haven’t been properly, or rather improperly, kissed.”

  “If you call me that one more time, it’s not your stalker you’re going to need protection from.” I hated that I was a fraud. The endearment, said with hint of roughness, sweetly echoed inside me. And if he kissed me any which way, I’d turned the SUV around and head back to his apartment. Hell, I’d drag him into the backseat.

  “God, you’re sexy when you talk tough.” Dean opened the car door and got out, turning to wink at me before going into the players entrance.

  He was sexy standing still. How the hell was I suppose to watch out for threats when I could barely keep my eyes off of Dean?

  Chapter 5

  Dean

  Putting the death threat out of my mind was a hell of a lot easier than banishing Alexa from my thoughts.

  Pint-sized and mouthy, the bodyguard wasn’t my type at all, yet I couldn’t think of any other woman I’d rather take to bed tonight. Or take on any one of the pieces of my gym equipment. If she’d given me the slightest encouragement earlier, I would have gotten her out of my system on the weight bench that beckoned behind her as we stood in the doorway of my home gym. But there had been no encouragement, only annoyance.

  Either she was immune to my charms or I was losing my touch.

  I threw a half-assed pass to my wide receiver, Nicolai Ward. When the ball landed five feet in front of him, he stood with his hands in the air as if to say, What the fuck was that?

  Coming back to the huddle, he ribbed, “Get your head out of your ass, Walker.”

  “I can’t help it if my ass is that cute,” I quipped.

  “It’s not, white boy.”

  “Glad to hear that you think so, but the ladies beg to differ. And I do mean beg.”

  “Beg you to stop.”

  “Your sister didn’t,” I joked with a wide smile.

  “Damn,” said Parker, my running back. The offensive linemen hooted.

  “You don’t have the balls to go after my sister. You’d be a dead man, and I’d be talking to a ghost right now.”

  Dead man. If Ward only knew how close I was to dying for real. That is, if you took the threat seriously, which I didn’t.

  Before we could run another play, the whistle blew, and the head coach called me over. Oslo, posing as one of the equipment managers, handed off a water bottle, and I took a long drink.

  The coach waited until Oslo made himself scarce, then said, “I’ve been advised of your situation.”

  Fuck. The last thing I needed was my coach questioning my ability to lead the team. “It’s nothing. Billings is overreacting.”

  “This is not going to distract you?”

  “No way. You can count on me. Besides, it’s a bunch of bullshit.”

  “Well, if I haven’t killed you yet…” The coach let the comment hang.

  “Aww, coach, you hurt my feelings.” With my antics off the field, I would bet he had thought of murder, but come game day, I was the one he wanted in the pocket. I might not have the best arm in the league, but I had the best mind for football, reading the opposing team’s defense like tomorrow’s sports pages.

  Nobody wanted to win more than me—nobody took a loss harder than me. Missing the playoffs last year for the first time in my eight-season career had hurt. I hadn’t nursed my wounds so much as I’d fed them, working my ass off during the off-season. This was the year the Kings would rule NYC. This was the year we would go to the championship game and win that almighty ring. Shut the damn media up and make all the haters eat leather. I’d earn my paycheck, and then Carlos would negotiate for more when my contract was up at the end of year. Bigger endorsement deals. More women.

  At eight and two, the team could smell the playoffs, but with the Washington Warriors breathing down our necks at seven and three, there was no room for distractions. No room for death threats and none for a cute little bodyguard who gave as good as she got. She’d surprised me. I needed to draw up another game plan. I had to stop messing around. Let Alexa do her job and I’d do mine. Fucking win it all.

  The rest of practice ran smoothly. I hit my targets, and I was feeling pleased with myself as my teammates and I headed for the exit.

  As promised, Alexa was waiting for me by the door, looking good enough to lick.

  “Hey, baby doll.” What happened to my decision not to mess with her? But I couldn’t help myself. The flash of anger in her eyes was like a sweet rush to my blood.

  “Baby doll?” questioned Parker.

  “What do we have here?” asked Ward, who was eyeballin
g my bodyguard. “Why, aren’t you the little pocket rocket.”

  Pocket rocket? That was the perfect description of Alexa. Crap, I hadn’t anticipated how my teammates would react. “This is Alexa, my girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend? You?” asked Parker.

  The way he said it was like I was incapable of a relationship. “Don’t act so shocked. Quarterbacks need love too.”

  Parker, Ward, and two of my linemen gathered around Alexa like she was a shiny new toy. “Are you a porn star?” Parker asked, starting the inquisition.

  “That would be a negative,” she answered. Being surrounded by four oversized males would have intimidated any other woman, but Alexa stood her ground.

  “Stripper?” asked Jacobs, my center.

  Alexa gave me a side-eyed glance before responding with another negative.

  “Acrobat?” guessed Tony, my left guard.

  “I know, I know,” butted in Ward. “An Olympic gymnast!”

  My teammates didn’t know when to let up.

  “Cut it out, guys.” I put my arm around Alexa, staking my claim.

  The sudden feel of the soft curve of her hip against my thigh jolted my dormant protective instincts to the surface. She was the one who was supposed to be guarding me, but it didn’t sit right. I was all for women’s rights—my two sisters not only were great moms, but they crushed it in the corporate world. However, when it came to physical threats, it was a man’s job—no, it was his duty—to protect his woman. Maybe, this was what I was feeling—a natural instinct to protect what was mine, even if it was pretend.

  There was no threat from my teammates, other than their own natural instinct to hit on a pretty girl. From the way Alexa blocked me, I knew she’d handle these bozos with ease. Unfortunately, she did it at my expense.

  She shook her head. “Not even close, boys. I’m a dominatrix.”

  Holy crap. If only she was. Wait, maybe she was. The way she barked out orders, Alexa might be. I didn’t know if this turned me on or not, but I was definitely curious.

  My teammates thought the idea was hilarious. Whether it was because of Alexa’s tiny stature or because they knew my playboy lifestyle didn’t mesh with a controlling female, I couldn’t say, but I did know that by tomorrow there’d be whips, chains, and ball-gags decorating my locker. Fuck.