Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (17 page)

“Thanks. Looks like we have at least one
happy match tonight.” Estie’s hand flew to her mouth. She hadn’t
meant that like it sounded.

Brett smiled sadly and definitely with
longing. “Yeah, at least one.”

Estie hurried away, not wanting him to read
the regret in her eyes, to know how close she was to throwing away
all her new intentions.

The Yappy Hour was a success. Twenty-three
dogs were adopted out via the puppy speed-dating. Brett signed a
shitload of autographs, looking pretty dazed and out of his element
by his instant popularity. He helped Estie, Sylvia, and the animal
rescue staff clean up afterward and pack up the supplies.

After carrying the last box out to his SUV,
he caught up with Estie as she locked the door of the building.
“That’s it?” He almost looked disappointed for the evening to be
over.

She nodded. “All done. I’m starved. I didn’t
take time to eat.”

“Me neither. I’ll buy you dinner, unless
you’re in a hurry to get home.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Even if she hadn’t been
starved, she’d fake it just to spend time with him.

Brett’s big grin did more for her than all
the other smiles in the world. He reached for her hand, and she
clasped it tight, even though she shouldn’t. It was just a friendly
gesture on his part, nothing more.

Like hell.
Who was she kidding?

Brett drove his SUV to a small neighborhood
bar close to Estie’s house. He held the door open as they entered
the old log cabin structure and found a private booth. A few people
glanced his way and did a double take. When Brett didn’t make eye
contact, they left him alone and minded their own business, much to
Estie’s relief.

Sitting down across from Brett, Estie
noticed his frown and turned to see his picture on the TV with a
caption of “Quarterback Least Likely to Succeed in Playoffs.” His
mouth drew into a firm straight line.

She reached across the table and squeezed
his hand, drawing his eyes to hers. “Don’t let the doubters get to
you. There will always be negative people who delight in tearing
you down. You can do this. I know you can.” Estie meant those words
more than she’d ever meant any before.

“I know I can, too.” He met her gaze, and
she squeezed his hand again. “It makes me more determined to prove
them wrong. All those negative comments fuel my desire to win.”

They both looked up as the waitress
approached to take their drink order. She didn’t even give Brett a
second glance as she sauntered off to get their drinks. Obviously
not a Lumberjacks fan.

A few seconds later, an eighty-something
grandmotherly type tottered up to them. She pushed her thick
glasses further up her nose and leaned in close to regard Brett.
“Are you Brett Gunnels?”

He nodded slowly, almost as if he wished he
could say no.

The woman turned to her group of geriatric
friends and gave a thumbs-up, shouting. “Pay up, Mabel. I told you
it was him.” She turned back to Brett and squinted at him. “You’re
not very big, are you? You remind me of my Harold. Honey, you need
more weight on those bones so those big boys don’t squash you like
a bug on the windshield. Lordie, most of their thighs are bigger
around than your rib cage.”

Brett just nodded, as if he didn’t know what
else to say.

“Would you sign this for Eunice?” She handed
him his unused napkin just as the waitress returned with their
drinks on a tray and waited impatiently for the woman to get out of
her way.

“Are you Eunice?”

The folds of skin shook on her face as the
woman nodded.

Brett scribbled his name on the napkin, and
the old lady inspected it as if to make sure it was genuine.
Satisfied, Eunice stole a handful of napkins from the waitress’s
tray and rapid-fired instructions to Brett as to the names of her
friends. Brett signed five more napkins. Eunice tottered away,
waving the napkins at her friends, without a word of thanks to
Brett. The waitress forced a polite smile as she finally set down
their drinks and turned back toward the bar.

He shook his head. “Your brother gets
gorgeous young women wanting his autograph, and I get the geriatric
gang. That’s pretty much my life in a capsule.”

Estie laughed. “The one named Mabel is kind
of cute.” She knew that story. She’d always gotten Freddie’s
leftovers. It was what it was.

Brett glanced toward the table of twittering
ladies, who were pointing their cameras at him then texting as fast
as their arthritic fingers could tap out the messages. He sighed
and met Estie’s gaze. She resisted the urge to grab his hands again
and hold onto them, not just to give him strength but to give her
strength.

She met his gaze and couldn’t look away.
Staring into those pale blue eyes, everyone else in the room faded
into the background once more. Only Brett existed, and she only
wanted Brett to exist. They were star-crossed wannabe lovers, two
people meant for each other in the wrong time and place, and
nothing would ever fix the dysfunction of it all.

Estie waved for another drink. What the
fuck, she wasn’t driving. Maybe alcohol would dull the pain of
choosing practicality over matters of the heart. Now she sounded
like some crazy-assed poet, which was so not her or anyone in her
family.

They ate dinner over a discussion of the
various Yappy Hour dogs and their new families. Estie gushed with
enthusiasm, and usually quiet, stoic Brett seemed to get caught up
in her excitement.

“You love this, don’t you?” he asked
her.

“Love what?” Estie sat back and curbed her
enthusiasm. Every time she went overboard on her animals, someone
stomped on her excitement. Out of habit she drew back.

“Working with the animals, finding them love
matches.” He grinned at her showing those rare dimples in his
cheeks.

“Love matches. I like that. You get me.”

“You get me.”

“We’re a pathetic couple of animal lovers,
aren’t we?”

“I don’t consider us pathetic. More like
enlightened.”

“Absolutely.” Estie clinked her wine glass
to his beer glass. “I’m glad that soldier is taking Goldie home, or
I’d be tempted to take her myself. I don’t need another dog. Not
right now.”

Brett sobered for a moment. “Because of
Richard? Why are you marrying him? You two seem so different.”

“I’m n—” Estie cut off her denial. Maybe
it’d be better for both of them if she kept her mouth shut. Her
“engagement” would keep Brett at arm’s length, and right now, she
didn’t need one more thing out of her control to mess with her
life. He had games to win, and she had a life to plan. Neither of
them needed distractions.

“I’m learning to embrace our differences,”
she lied.

Brett did not look the least bit convinced.
In fact, skepticism was written from his furrowed eyebrows to the
thin line of his lips. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hope so, too.” Estie whispered under her
breath.

* * * * *

Brett didn’t get it. He looked at Estie
across the table and fell a little harder for her.

Why would someone as smart, beautiful, and
loving as Estie choose to be with a dick like Richard? She scored a
touchdown in his book—but then his book was a little skewed
considering he harbored a Super Bowl-sized crush on her.

“Why did you go into financial planning
instead of doing something with animals?” He held his breath,
sensing he might have overstepped some invisible boundary with his
too-personal question.

She met his gaze. Her blue eyes so clear and
vulnerable. As if she were about to reveal her deepest, darkest
secrets.

He leaned forward and on impulse grabbed her
hand. “Estie? Why?”

She heaved a large sigh, held his hand
tighter, and gazed into his eyes. “I’m great with numbers, very
organized. I like the control and the order.”

He nodded, while a small smile tugged at his
mouth. She did like her order. She stared down at their intertwined
fingers. His gaze followed hers. He might be short by NFL
standards, but he had big hands and big feet and big—well, he
detoured away from that line of thinking. It’d only get him in
trouble. He stared hard at her hands. Something was missing.
Something—

He jerked his head up, meeting her gaze,
hoping against hope, there might be a reason for what he
saw—actually didn’t see. “Your ring is gone.”

For a moment she turned pale as a Forks
vampire. “I’m— It’s being sized. It was a little too big.”

Brett frowned and scratched his head and
pushed the mystery of the missing ring from his brain. “Have you
ever considered doing something with animals?” Her hand felt so
good in his. So damn good and so damn right, and he was so damn
screwed.

“At one time. My dad thought I should be a
veterinarian.”

“Why didn’t you do that?”

She shrugged one shoulder and stared at the
wall. “I’m good at finances, and everyone assumed I’d eventually
manage Tyler’s money and Freddie would manage his legal dealings.
It was part of the plan.” She was holding his hand so tight, he
swore she’d cut off the circulation.

“And you do like your plans, don’t you?” He
winked at her. “You’d be an awesome veterinarian,” Brett spoke with
absolute conviction.

Estie sighed, as if the weight of her world
sat on her shoulders. “Maybe, maybe not. I couldn’t control aspects
of it. That might drive me crazy.”

“It’d be good for you, and you’d make one
hell of a vet.”

“You think?” Estie’s eyes widened, as if
she’d just had an epiphany and he’d given it to her. He slid his
thumb across the skin between her thumb and forefinger, totally
getting off on it, which seemed so wrong on so many levels—not that
he gave a shit at this point. His moral compass had found its
magnetic north and didn’t care what true north might be.

“Estie, the way I see it, you’re wasting
your talents.” And her love. Estie had a lot to give in that
department, and she was giving it to a man who didn’t appreciate
it.

Like he would?

Yeah, he’d appreciate it, but he doubted he
could give her everything she needed.

She leaned forward, like a woman did when
she was into the guy she was with. He liked that, and he liked
being that guy.

“What about you, Brett Gunnels? What do you
want to do to change your life?”

Brett blinked several times and tried to
come up with a noncommittal, yet honest answer. His life was
football and after football like so many guys, he didn’t know what
the hell he’d do. He’d always wanted to work with animals, but that
didn’t pay the bills. A lucrative starting quarterback contract
would give him the means. “I want a championship ring. I haven’t
thought beyond that.”

“You’ll get your ring. I know you can do
it.”

Brett nodded slowly. When she grasped his
other hand and squeezed it, he thanked every deity known to man
that his ass was in the chair, or he’d surely have collapsed on the
ground and worshipped at her feet.

She believed in him, and she wasn’t just
blowing smoke up his ass. He knew when people were bullshitting
him. She was not. Her absolute blind faith fueled his desire—on and
off the field.

Her paradise-blue eyes sucked him in, like
warm sand on a tropical beach. He sank down and basked in the
sunshine as it bathed his naked body with its golden rays.

Well, fuck, the last thing he should be
thinking about were naked bodies when it came to Estie, but he
could so picture her naked body lying on that beach with him, her
long legs entwined in his, her perfect breasts pressed against his
chest, and wearing nothing but a smile.

A very sexy, come get-me-big-boy smile.

He was so there.

And so not.

Brett pulled his hands from hers and
anchored them under the table to his thighs. All he wanted to do
was hold her and pledge his undying love. Instead of looking for a
nice, sweet woman to settle down with and have children, he
continued to lust after a woman who wasn’t available emotionally or
any other way that mattered.

Estie toyed with her straw, like she was
upset, as if it bothered her, like maybe he’d rejected her. Hell,
he hadn’t rejected her. He’d follow her anywhere, no matter how far
or how fucking stupid. He’d do it anyway.

“Are you okay?” He fought to keep the
desperation out of his voice, fearing she might suggest they quit
meeting like this, whatever “like this” happened to be.

Ah, hell, she lived in his dreams every
night, and he had no fucking clue if he lived in hers or ever
counted for anything in her thoughts, or if he even should want to
count.

He was one messed-up hombre.

Chapter 10

Estie said goodbye to Brett and ran inside
her house, not lingering for a moment, not gazing into those pale
blue eyes, not saying one word beyond
good night
. Because
one word—one little word—would put her over the edge. And over the
edge meant horizontal in his bed with no clothes and a lot of
sweating and panting.

Damn, it’d been a long time since she’d
wanted a man enough to be sweating and panting. With Richard she
had sterile sex if there was such a thing, not sweaty or scalding
hot and bothered. In fact, Richard got the job done in his usual
efficient manner, rolled over and went to sleep, leaving Estie to
wonder why everyone thought sex was such a fucking big deal. As far
as she was concerned, she could live with or without it.

Until she’d met Brett.

Now she got it. She imagined a dozen
different ways she’d like to screw his brains out and a hundred
different positions. She’d never been like that before. In fact,
she’d never considered herself a passionate woman until now.

Brett might be quiet, but under all that
deceptive calm she suspected lurked an equally passionate man
waiting for the right woman to unleash him. That was another trait
they shared.