Down by Contact - A Seattle Lumberjacks Romance (6 page)

One more season. Just one more season to
earn that elusive ring. That’s all Zach needed. He’d do whatever it
took, even dealing with the team’s asshole quarterback. Well,
almost anything. Playing nice with the quarterback might be taking
it too far, yet he knew he had to figure out a way to get beyond
his animosity toward Harris.

“Coach, you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah, sit down.” HughJack motioned to the
empty chair across from his desk and next to Rocky.

Zach sat down, certain whatever they wanted
couldn’t be good, and just as certain Harris was behind it. He
clenched his hands on his thighs and took a deep breath.

“So Zach, that little performance at the
charity ball last week couldn’t come at a worse time. We’re heading
into our second regular season game, and every team in the NFL is
gunning for us. We don’t need this kind of distraction.”

“It’s not a distraction. It’s long
past.”

“Maybe for you, but the front office doesn’t
see it that way.” HughJack stood and paced the floor. The guy was a
frigging perpetual motion machine, never sat down for more than a
few seconds.

“Uh, Zach, you groped the governor’s wife.”
One corner of Rocky’s mouth twitched, as if he found it amusing.
Zach didn’t find humiliation the least bit amusing.

“Veronica wants your hide and Mr. Simms is
livid. I convinced him you were salvageable. Veronica’s not so
convinced, and you know she wields almost as much power as her
father does.”

Boy, did he know that. Zach kept his
distance from the ball-busting witch. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, just like it was an accident that you
toweled off the first lady’s boobs? And just like when you told the
host of the local sports radio show that he was as annoying as a
tick and just as smart? And how about last week when you belched on
a national TV interview? Hell, you’ve only been here a few months,
and you’ve already gained a reputation as a backwards redneck with
the manners of a gorilla.”

“I’m sorry.” Zach stared at his hands. He
didn’t get the social rules and crap like that. He tried, but he
just kept screwing up.

“Things have to change, and like it or not
we have a solution.”

Zach looked up. His throat dried up like
grass during a Texas summer. He held his breath, waiting for the
barbell to drop and his career with the Lumberjacks to be crushed
beneath the weight of his social ineptness.

“You’re going to charm school.”

“I’m what?”

“Charm school. You’re going to learn social
graces if it kills you.” HughJack grinned, and Rocky snorted, as if
this was fucking funny.

“Like hell I am.” Zach sat up straight and
squared his shoulders.

“You have two choices. Charm school or be
traded.”

“Then trade me.” Zach wouldn’t play these
stupid-assed games just to make the rich owner and his bitchy
daughter happy. It was bullshit. They signed him to play football,
not waste his time on some pansy-assed thing like this.

“You might want to reconsider when you find
out what team is interested.”

“What team?” Dread filled Zach right down to
his size-fourteen feet.

“The Marauders.” HughJack paused in his
pacing and waited.

“No. You’ve got to be kidding?” The very
name Marauders struck fear in any player’s heart, especially one
possibly playing in his last season.

“There’s not a big market for linebackers of
your age and salary, Zach.” Rocky shot him a sympathetic look, and
Zach knew he was hosed. Even Rocky was throwing him under the
bus.

“How long is this class?”

“You’ll attend private sessions in the small
conference room at the training facility twice a week, starting
tonight at seven sharp. We’ll work around your schedule as far as
games. By the way, for your graduation test, you’ll host a
black-tie affair at your home, a charity gala during our bye week
in December. This homeless charity is Veronica’s baby so learn your
lessons well.”

With that last kick to his ass, the men
stood, excusing him.

Zach headed for the door, not happy at all.
“Fine.”

“Don’t be late. It’s bad manners.” HughJack
winked at him, and Zach fought to control his middle finger.
Gritting his teeth, he walked out of the office and down the
hall.

Harris lounged against the wall a few doors
down, a shit-eating grin on his face. Zach itched to wipe the floor
with the bastard. Instead, he pushed past him and out the front
door. Harris’s laughter followed him.

Frustrated, Zach slammed his fist into a
tree trunk. The impact jarred his arm and hurt like hell. He stared
at his skinned and bloody knuckles, not giving a damn.

Like hell did he need to attend charm
school. There wasn’t a thing wrong with his manners except he
didn’t have any. He was a football player, damn it, and a helluva
good one. A defensive guy known for his toughness and try, not for
his use of the right fork. No fucking way would he let some
snooty-assed pansy lecture him on the finer points of all that
bullshit social crap.

Except—

The Marauders
. League doormats. The
only team perpetually worse than his old team.

Getting into his truck, Zach rested his
forehead against the steering wheel.

He was so totally screwed.

CHAPTER 4

Kelsie stared at the conference room door and
waited for her student to arrive. She tapped her fingernails on the
thick oak table then stopped herself when she realized what she was
doing.

A lady never showed impatience or
revealed her weaknesses
.

In other words, never let them see you
sweat. She distracted herself by studying the pictures on the wall
in front of her—several scenes taken of the celebration after the
Lumberjacks won their first Super Bowl. She recognized Tyler Harris
holding the large trophy over his head, while his cousin, Derek
Ramsey, stood nearby, one arm around Rachel, his now wife, while
giving the Number One sign with his free hand. She scanned the rest
of the pictures, unconsciously looking for Zach. Of course, there
were none. He’d signed with the team during the off-season. Maybe
at the end of this season, there’d be a new photo of Zach hoisting
the coveted Lombardi. She’d like that for him. She’d followed his
career over the years, cheered his victories, been saddened by his
defeats, because of the guilt she’d felt over her treatment of him,
she supposed.

Her stomach churned with more than just
nerves but in anticipation of seeing Zach again—as much as she
hated to admit it.

She didn’t have a clue how he’d take this
new twist on his life—or maybe she did have a clue. He wouldn’t
take it well, not well at all. First of all, he’d resist etiquette
training with his typical determined stubbornness. Second, he’d be
pretty darned upset to have her as his instructor.

Well, Mr. Murphy, I’m not doing splits and
cartwheels over working with you either, but it’s for your own
good.

Two to three long months with Zach Murphy
didn’t bode well for Kelsie’s sanity or willpower. One look at the
man last week, and her body screamed
I want that
like a
spoiled kid in a toy store. As long as Zach maintained a distance,
she’d be able to keep it strictly business—had to keep it that
way—for his future and hers.

She wondered if he had any idea how much
Veronica wanted him gone. Kelsie had no doubt if Zach’s manners
didn’t improve, the owner’s daughter would try to get him off the
team. She could help him stay on the team and ease her guilt at the
same time.

The best thing for both of them is to let
him believe she was still the same selfish bitch she’d always been.
Of course, that would negate one of the reasons she came to Seattle
in the first place—to apologize for her cruelty of years ago. Then
again, a lady could apologize and still maintain a smart distance
from a rough-around-more-than-the-edges sexy guy.

Yes, she could do this, be coldly
businesslike and lead him to believe she didn’t care a bit about
anything but her bottom line. Yet, as far she’d come so far from
her mean-girl past, she still owed him an apology. A big one,
straight from the heart.

Kelsie looked down at her dog-eared,
autographed copy of
Mabel Fay Buchanan’s Book of Southern Charm
and Etiquette
and smiled to herself. She’d start with Chapter
1, “Must-Have Social Graces.”

Call her weird, but she loved this book.
Mabel Fay was like an old friend, a purveyor of common courtesy but
also practical advice. Kelsie met the woman once at a dinner in
Atlanta and thoroughly enjoyed the grand old dame’s spunky charm
and grace.

She thumbed through the first chapter and
wrote down notes, brimming with her old confidence. The book
outlined courtesies so basic she found it hard to believe people
didn’t already understand them, but not everyone had the formal
upbringing she’d had, groomed from birth to be a doctor, lawyer, or
politician’s charming wife. Zach hadn’t had that indoctrination
into social graces. Once in high school in a rare moment of letting
his guard down, he’d confided in her about his alcoholic mother and
abusive father. Later she’d used that information to betray and
belittle him.

Kelsie sighed, riddled with regrets and
determined to help the man. It couldn’t be that hard to tutor a
football player and transform him from a sow’s ear to a Gucci
wallet. Not hard at all. Even if he was Zach Murphy. Even if they
did have a history.

She patted herself on the back for
leveraging one of the few talents she had besides shopping,
cheerleading, and competing in beauty pageants. All those manners
her mama drilled into her would finally amount to something.
Currently, they amounted to a full belly and a warm—though small
and shabby—place to sleep.

Just this morning Kelsie cashed her check
and rented a small room from an ancient widow who lived in a
decrepit mansion not far from Lumberjacks headquarters. She’d left
Scranton curled up on the futon that doubled as a bed. The next
thing she’d done was eat an early dinner at a trendy restaurant.
Maybe she’d spent a little too much, but she’d earn more. Soon.
She’d use the Lumberjacks job to get her foot in the door with
other sports teams and businesses in the area. But first things
first, to get through this initial meeting with Zach.

Kelsie smoothed the wrinkles out of the
skirt of her tailored designer suit, the only one she’d brought
with her from Texas. She rubbed her palms together and cleared her
throat. She could do this. She’d stand on her own two feet, control
her own life, and be successful.

Sure, Mark had emotionally beaten her down
and destroyed her self-confidence, but she was slowly gaining it
back. She’d be successful, and she’d be nice doing it. Never again
would she be labeled a mean girl, or a selfish bitch, or even a
diva. Nope, from now on, people wouldn’t get so much as a glimpse
of the old Kelsie. They’d see her as gracious and kind.

Except Zach. Definitely not Zach.

Then the door opened, and her good
intentions flew over the goalposts.

* * * * *

Zach stopped in the doorway. His mouth went
dry and his body tensed. He clenched his jaw, as conflicting
thoughts warred inside his skull. His worst nightmare had come to
pass. This could not be happening.

“What the fuck?” He took another step into
the room and kicked the door shut behind him.

Kelsie Carrington sat at the conference
table, all prim, proper, and fucking-kill-a-man-with-one-pouty-look
beautiful. Her sexy red lips pressed into a thin, disapproving
line. Her beautiful face with those high cheekbones and striking
features sent his heart to his groin alerting the boys down south
to prepare for action. Only there wasn’t going to be any action.
Not now. Not ever. That train fell off the trestle miles ago.

Kelsie sniffed as if she smelled something
foul. “Lesson One. Four-letter words are not necessary to get your
point across.” She stood and smiled at him with her cool, composed
smile and held out her hand.

Zach stared at her hand. What the hell did
she expect him to do with her hand? Kiss it? Shake it? High-five
her? Feeling like the beast to her beauty, he did none of the
above. Instead, he leaned against the door, crossed one ankle over
the other, and studied her.

She still had it, that composure, that
in-born ability to make him feel like a backwards oaf without an
ounce of class. She’d broken his heart once and taken away the only
thing he had as a poor boy from the wrong side of town, his pride.
Well, Zach Murphy didn’t forgive or forget. Besides football, the
one thing he excelled at was holding a grudge. Ask Harris.

His high school dream girl—architect of the
most humiliating memories of his life—wore a form-fitting light
blue suit, which hugged her slender body. She hadn’t gained a pound
in fifteen years. Except her boobs seemed bigger. Maybe she’d
gotten a boob job or wore one of those bras that pushed the things
upward. Whatever the hell it was, his dick liked what it saw.

She cleared her throat, and Zach looked down
at her angelic face. Only he knew she was no angel. She stared back
at him, unblinking, but her eyes narrowed. She’d caught him staring
at her boobs, like the moron she assumed he still was. Embarrassed,
he focused on her hand still held out to him. A forbidden thought
crept into his brain. Her long delicate fingers and manicured
fingernails would feel good running through his chest hair. One of
her nails was chipped, an imperfect touch on a perfect woman and
strangely out of character for her. Yet, he liked that touch of
imperfection. A lot. Too much, in fact.

“You may kiss my hand. Just a brief touch
with the lips. Don’t slobber on me like a caveman.”