Backfield in Motion (3 page)

“Vince is going.”

“He is? That suck-ass.” Mac swore under her
breath. Dread filled her. Not Vince. Her nemesis. The guy whose
life’s mission was to make her look bad or get her ass fired.

“He’s willing to play the political game to
reach his goals.” Jed stared her straight in the eyes, and Mac
stared right back, her gaze unwavering, even though she wanted to
look down.

“I’d rather be chosen on my merits, not how
far my head is stuck up someone’s ass.”

So that’s what this was about—the coveted
scholarship. Every few years, the Lumberjacks awarded an employee a
full-ride scholarship to the college of their choice, as long as
their area of study benefitted the organization. Mac wanted that
scholarship so badly she could taste it. Even more, she had her eye
on the horticulturist position, which would be available in the
next year or so due to the current horticulturist’s impending
retirement. Most NFL practice facilities didn’t employ a
horticulturist, but the Jacks’ facility bordered Lake Washington
and part of the property included wetlands and shoreline, which
required careful management. Down the road, she’d work herself into
turf management.

“This is Veronica—the owner’s daughter—we’re
talking about.” Jed looked across the field as if assessing the
deep green grass, only he didn’t fool Mac. His Adam’s apple bobbed
as he swallowed. “Mac, Vince is lobbying to make himself the
front-runner for the scholarship. He’s been here longer, and he’s
trying to convince management he’s a better fit.”

“He’s a lazy ass. He hides out half the day
and lets the rest of us do his work for him.”

“Management doesn’t see that.
You
need to make an effort here if you want that scholarship. You need
to be seen out of your normal work clothes in situations other than
mowing the fields or weeding the front flower beds.”

“Fine, I’ll go to that damn barbecue, but
I’m not wearing a dress.” Heck, she couldn’t remember the last time
she’d worn a dress. Had she ever worn a dress? Maybe when she’d
been a toddler at her mother’s funeral.

Jed grinned, enjoying her annoyance all too
much. “It’s all part of the job. You’ll need a date. Do you know
someone you can ask?”

A date?
As if on cue, Bruiser,
dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and running shoes, jogged
by. Mac’s eyes fastened onto the man’s ripped body, and she licked
her lips so she wouldn’t embarrass herself by drooling. Sweat ran
down his spine and disappeared beneath his waistband. She’d love to
lick that sweat off his body, slide her hands under those shorts
and grip that fine ass of his, and then she’d—

“I never would’ve guessed it.” Jed snorted
out a chuckle.

With a guilty start, Mac jerked her head
back to her boss. “Guessed what?” Her face burned worse than it had
on that summer day she’d fallen asleep at the beach.

“You have a thing for the team pretty boy.”
The teasing glint in his eyes terrified her.

“No, I don’t. I appreciate a fine male body,
that’s all.” Mac started the lawnmower to drown out Jed’s amused
laughter. As she put it in gear, she shot Jed one last irritated
scowl and hollered over the engine. “Don’t get any ideas. I’ll get
my own damn date.”

“Make sure you do.”

Mac groaned at the thought of what Jed would
do if left to his own devices. She’d definitely dig up a date.

Somewhere.

* * * * *

A few hours later, Mac lined up a shot and
dropped the eight ball into the corner pocket. With a
long-suffering sigh, Derek Ramsey, the Jacks’ all-pro wide
receiver, shuffled back to his seat, ignoring the jeers of his
teammates. Mac pumped her fist in the air, then swept her gaze
around the room, seeking out her next victim. Not one of the
chickenshits would even establish eye contact with her. Cowards,
every last one of them.

Sprawled around a long table sat a dozen or
so Seattle Lumberjacks who lived in Seattle year-round. They met
almost every Monday night for beer and pool at O’Malley’s Sports
Bar a few miles from the Jacks’ practice facility. Mac had been
coming here with the team for the past three years. Sometimes the
group dwindled to a few guys. Other times, during football season,
the rowdy bunch took over the back room and watched Monday Night
Football together for some raucous good times with Mac in the thick
of it all.

She’d always been more comfortable with men
than women. Hell, all her best friends growing up had been men.
She’d never cultivated actual girlfriends or traded makeup secrets
or talked about hot guys. Lately, she wished she had, because she
was absolutely clueless about girl stuff. Sometimes even a tomboy
wanted to be seen as a woman.

And why was she thinking this now?

This weird preoccupation lately with getting
more girly better not have anything to do with seeing Bruiser
bare-ass naked with all his equipment on display. Her gaze flicked
to the object of her after-dark bedroom fantasies, and man, she’d
had some hot ones. Bruiser leaned forward, a heart-stopping smile
on his face, laughter in his sexy voice, and entertained the group
with some outrageous tale about hang-gliding off California
cliffs.

Mac sighed and plopped into a chair next to
Brett, the Jacks’ quiet backup quarterback and a bit of an enigma.
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she looked away. Brett saw
everything but never said much. She felt his eyes on her and knew
he was reading her like a trashy novel. Squirming slightly, she
finally met his gaze and prayed nothing on her face gave away her
weakness.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she
quipped.

Brett didn’t back down, didn’t even blink.
“What’s got your tail in a knot?”

Mac glanced around the table. Derek and
Bruiser discussed the holes in the Mariners’ pitching staff. Tyler
and Zach engaged in a good-natured pissing contest over whether the
offense or defense would win more games for the team in the
upcoming season. No one paid Mac and Brett any attention.

“I have a problem.” Mac scowled and drew
rings on the table with her beer glass.

“Yeah?” Brett leaned forward.

“Yeah. I need to be more visible to
management, especially Veronica, if I want a chance at the Jacks’
employee scholarship.”

“Makes sense. But how?”

“I need to be seen as more than the person
who mows the grass.”

“Hey, you keep all the plants healthy, too,
even the finicky ones.” Brett shot her a rare grin, his pale blue
eyes twinkling. Mac smiled back at him. There were times when she
almost suspected Brett had a crush on her, which seemed outrageous.
Regardless, the reclusive backup quarterback never acted on his
feelings.

“I need to be seen in a more professional
light by Veronica.”

“Good luck with that. She hates everybody
but Bruiser. He’s her poster boy for a football player.” Brett
snorted, as if he found this little fact highly amusing.

“I know.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I need to go to that damn barbecue for
starters.”

“Well then, go.” Brett always had a simple,
direct answer for everything.

Mac felt her face heat up. How did a girl
explain that she didn’t know how to be a girl? In her typical Mac
way, she just spit it out. “I don’t know what to wear and all that
crap.”

“Lavender can help with that.” Tyler
inserted himself into the conversation. “She lives to shop. At
least that’s what my credit card says.”

Mac jumped, unaware she’d caught the
attention of the other guys at the table. Just fucking wonderful,
as if this whole thing weren’t humiliating enough. She turned to
Tyler, unable to keep annoyance out of her voice. “We were having a
private conversation.”

“Yeah, Mac, whatever.” Tyler rolled his
eyes. “It’s not like your voice doesn’t carry.”

“Great. So I’m not just an inept dresser,
I’m a big mouth.”

“You could tone it down a little,” Zach
added with an apologetic shrug.

Mac crossed her arms over her chest and
gazed around the table. “This is as toned down as it gets.”

“Like I said, I’ll have Lavender call
you.”

“Rachel is great at shopping on budget,”
Derek offered.

“Kelsie can help, too. If she cleaned me up,
she can do it for anyone.” Zach ducked his head, as if realizing
what he’d just said. “Not that you need cleaning up. You look great
as you are.”

Mac stared at her ragged fingernails. Maybe
she did need a little help.

“Give me your number. We’ll have the women
get in touch with you.” Tyler could be as bossy as Mac’s cranky,
geriatric cat.

With a heavy sigh, Mac wrote her number on a
napkin and passed it to Tyler. Working to gather her courage for
one final request, she chewed on her lower lip and stared at a
framed painting of dogs playing poker hanging crookedly on the
opposite wall. The bulldog was cheating.

Mac looked back at the guys and cleared her
throat. “I need one more thing. An escort to this barbecue.”

For a moment, silence reigned around the
table. She caught the quick glances from one guy to another and
wanted to crawl under the table.

“I’m taking my wife or I’d be glad to do
it,” Zach said.

“Me, too.”

“I might as well have a wife. I’m taking
Lavender.”

“So when are you going to marry her?” Derek
challenged Tyler, who also happened to be his cousin.

“I don’t do marriage. We’re a couple. She
knows that.” Tyler tipped his chair back on two legs and chewed on
a straw. His attempt to look nonchalant didn’t fool Mac. Marriage
gave the guy claustrophobia.

“Oh, man, you’re in deep shit, Harris. You’d
better put a ring on that girl’s finger before she kicks your
dumbshit ass to the curb.” Zach grinned at his friend, obviously
enjoying the quarterback’s discomfort.

“She knows a good thing when she sees it.”
Tyler’s chair slammed to the ground, and he oozed complacent
arrogance. Mac doubted Lavender was nearly as complacent about
their situation.

“I bet she knows a hopeless cause when she
sees one, too.” Zach howled with laughter and the rest joined
in.

“No way in fucking hell am I marrying. You
guys can live with a ball and chain, but not this guy.”

“Hey, we’re talking about Mac here.” Brett
steered the conversation back to her. “I’d love to take you, but
I’m out of town that weekend.” Regret burrowed lines on his face,
as if he really did want to take her.

A couple other single guys offered up their
excuses. Mac gripped the edge of the table to stop herself from
sinking under it while dying a slow death from embarrassment. None
of them wanted to be seen with the woman who was plain as a bagel
without cream cheese.

Mac smelled like fresh dirt and mowed grass,
not expensive perfume. She cut her own hair when it got too long.
She didn’t own a dress or makeup beyond an old tube of pink
lipstick and grocery store mascara. Yeah, guys like these didn’t
take out girls like her, even as a favor. Even worse, only one guy
in this room interested her, and he’d never offer. Not the pretty
boy who only did what benefitted Bruiser.

“Bruiser, Veronica thinks you’re God’s gift
to the fucking NFL. It’d be a big advantage to Mac if you took
her.” Brett had read Mac’s mind. Oh, lord, not Bruiser.
No, no,
no
.

“Yeah, Bruise, that’s perfect. Veronica
salivates every time you get near her just thinking about the
different ways she can use you to promote the team.” Derek winked
at Mac, but she didn’t wink back. She was too busy resurrecting her
pride, yet none of these assholes seemed to give a shit about her
discomfort.

“Yeah, like the
Men of the NFL
Calendar. What were you, Mr. July?”

“August,” Bruiser growled, as if irritated
that he even remembered the month. “Just for the record, my
relationship with Veronica is purely business.”

“Nobody’s saying it isn’t,” Zach pointed
out.

“So it’s a done deal. You’ll take Mac.”
Tyler lifted his beer in a toast.

Bruiser hesitated for a brief moment, just
long enough to telegraph to Mac that he didn’t really want to take
her. “I’d love to take you, honey.” His mouth tipped up in that
sexy smile of his. This was no big deal to him, while it was
everything to Mac, on so many levels.

Mac slipped her hands under the table and
clenched them together to cover up the shaking. Invisible fingers
wrapped around her throat, rendering her unable to speak. Hell,
breathing was a big enough chore.

Her and Bruiser? On a date? Even if it was a
fake one. A pity date. She knew her mouth was opening and closing
like a newscaster with a broken teleprompter. Tyler’s mouth kicked
up in a knowing smile. When the jerk nudged his cousin, she kicked
her vocal cords into operation. “I—I don’t think—”

“It’s settled.” Tyler smirked at her, as if
she weren’t fooling him one damn bit, and reached for the pitcher
of beer, draining it. “Who’s buying the next round?”

Mac sat back in her chair and resisted the
urge to bite off what was left of her fingernails. Everything was
far from settled, especially her wildly beating heart. She shot a
glance at Bruiser, who wasn’t even paying any attention to her.
Taking her to the barbecue was the equivalent of a mercy date.
Bruiser could flirt with her, but she didn’t even register on his
radar as a woman. Unless Kelsie and company could work a major
miracle.

But did she want to register on his radar?
Where the hell would that get her?

Most likely nowhere good.

* * * * *

Bruiser hated being played, and the guys had
just played him. Big time. He waited until Mac and the rest of his
jerk-off teammates left the bar then he turned on his former—as of
a few minutes ago—best friend. “Why the fuck did you suggest I take
Mac?”

“You didn’t have to say yes.”