World’s Biggest Schmuck

Brooklyn

 

 

 

“DO YOU REALLY THINK you’re messing up the games because of me?”

Ahhh, fuck. Didn’t I feel like the world’s biggest schmuck, and I deserved a swift kick to the nads. Probably several swift kicks.

Carefully pulling out of Delaney, I scooped her closer.

I tipped up her chin so I could meet her eyes. “No. I’m a fucking jackass. Just need to get my mojo back.”

“Well, my shit can’t be helping any.”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for me being a tool.” I wrapped her in my arms, wishing I could take back every dumbass thing I’d said. “You’ve taken some goddamn hard knocks. Came out on top. In control. A powerhouse in every way. And I love you.”

Her lips glided against mine. “I love hearing you say that, but I feel a but coming on.”

“I do have one suggestion.” I flipped the covers over us.

“A suggestion.” Her golden eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“Move in with me.”

She stiffened immediately, completely. Rolled off me and took about all the blankets with her as she stood at the side of the bed. “No.”

“It was a thought.”

“So you can keep me safe?”

Spinning to the edge of the mattress, I clasped my hands between my knees.

I peered up at her. “My suggestion isn’t just because of . . . him.”

Her nose rose to the air. “It’s not, is it?”

Snagging her hand, I brought her palm to my lips. “Nope. You can’t deny we’re damn good together.”

“In bed.” She snatched her hand back.

I chuckled, rising. Her eyes widened as she took in my body, but she wasn’t scared of me. Hell no. She wanted. More.

“Remember that I love you bit?” My fingers skimmed along her shoulders.

“But?”

“Nothing more than that.” Curling her against me, I took her sweet kiss to mean acquiescence.

’Course I’d never come up against a woman like Delaney Jones before.

“Move in, like permanently?” Her chin notched up as soon as I released her succulent lips.

“Yup.”

“Jester won’t like the competition.”

“He’ll get over it. Besides, he has Cinnamon now.”

“And if I said no?”

“You know I won’t force you. Hell, I wouldn’t even be able to if I tried.” Her silky skin heated more than my hands as I edged her into my arms. “Do I wanna look out for you? Yeah. Am I gunning for Eric? That’s a given. But you and me? We’re more than our pasts, right?”

The blankets dropped between us. “If I said yes?”

“I’d probably post it on Instagram.” I deadpanned.

She bit my neck, a sharp little nip. “You’re not on Instagram.”

“Sooo, you looked me up online?” I dragged her into bed with me.

“I certainly did not.” Delaney’s mouth curved. “I had Raquel do it for me.”

Laughter boomed out of me, and I spooned around her.

“So that’s a yes?” I asked, nibbling at her ear.

“Yes,” she squeaked.

“I love you.”

Her hands fell to my forearms, and she held me against her, wiggling back. “I love you too, Brooks.”

****

The day before our latest home game against the Georgia Pride, I had a meeting downtown. With Delaney moved into my house we drove to and from work together, cooked meals together, and cooked up some seriously hot action in the bedroom, the kitchen, the living room . . .

Everything was fiiiine except somehow that slippery shit Eric had up and disappeared from the radar again. Would’ve been a good thing except I still owed him several beat downs—and the abusive asshole owed serious jail time and a divorce.

In the thick of Charleston’s maze of streets—heavily decorated for Christmas already—I stepped into a cobblestone alley and peered at the wooden sign above a shop door.

When I entered, a little bell jingled, and a man who was almost as big as me, boasting a thick crest of hair as black as Delaney’s, squinted at me with dense cigar smoke wafting in front of him.

“You got an appointment? ’Cause Frankie doesn’t do walk-ins unless—”

“Brooklyn Holt.” I thrust out my hand.

“The Baller. In. The. Flesh. Didn’t recognize my favorite tight end out of the tight uniform pants.” Frankie Burelli immediately stubbed out the stogie and pumped my hand. And kept pumping it up and down, up and down.

Leaning forward, still grasping my hand, he leered. “Need me to measure your inseam?”

Josh Stone had warned me about Frankie’s nonstop come-ons, but I was confident I could handle the Italian Stallion. “Not in the market for a new suit at the moment.”

“Madon. That wasn’t really what I was talkin’ about.”

“Figured.” I finally slipped my palm free from his more than firm grip. “But you know what they say, I’m a one-woman guy.”

“Straight muthafuckas.” The elegantly dressed bruiser scowled.

I grinned, looking around the small shop filled to the rafters with bolts of fabric and a million other items that had once earned Frankie infamy as Frankie the Tailor in more than one way. “Looks like business is booming, huh?”

He leaned against the counter, thick legs stretching the quality material of his suit pants. “Can’t complain.” He toyed with the top of a silver cane propped next to him. “Ya know, that and the side contracts.”

“About that. I brought you the tickets for the game tomorrow and a signed football.” I handed over the goods, and he made sure our fingertips made contact.

“Wouldn’t mind if you signed me, with your tongue in my ass.” As he licked his lips I felt my cheeks heating.

Josh Stone sure hadn’t been kidding.

Keep him on track, Brooks. “Any updates?”

“Nada. That fuggin’ loser-bait went to ground. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to take him out on Thanksgiving. Kind of too public, if ya know what I mean.” He pulled on the end of his cane, partially revealing what looked like a glinting, hella sharp sword.

“Yeah. I can see how that would be . . . messy.”

Josh really hadn’t been kidding.

“So if I see him again you want me to intervene?” He slid the blade back into the cleverly designed cane. “Ya know, vermin like him never lay low for long.”

“Well, I don’t want you to get in trouble with the law or anything.”

He snorted. “Like I’m fuckin’ worried about that. You’ve heard of my family, right?”

“How about you call me immediately if you lay eyes on that twat. I got some payback of my own to give him.”

When I said Delaney needed to let me help, I’d obviously meant beat the fuck outta that punk.

“I think that can be arranged.” He lit the cigar back up.

Probably my cue to leave while my ass was still intact. I started for the door.

“Hey.” Frankie’s voice boomed out. “Think next time you come callin’ you can wear the uniform?”

Not even touching that one.

I left with a finger wave. “See you at the game tomorrow.”

I was tooling through the historic streets in my truck, heading home, when I saw a somewhat familiar figure slouching along.

Holy fucking fuck.

I pulled over and slammed on the brakes, the tires spinning and squealing.

Couldn’t frigging believe my eyes. Frankie was right. That motherfucker hadn’t kept up the disappearing act for long. Here he was, strolling down the street in broad freakin’ daylight like the fat fuck didn’t have a care in the world.

I leaped out of the truck. “Hey! Eric! Eric Grimes!”

The douche glanced back, a sudden look of fear widening his eyes until the whites showed. Then he bolted into the nearest alley.