Sly "Bullhorn" Brodsky, Offensive Line

SLY “BULLHORN” BRODSKY,

SLY “BULLHORN” BRODSKY,OFFENSIVE LINE

First & Ten Series, Book 5

Copyright ©2015

Jean C. Joachim

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Chapter One

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As he climbed the stairs with a box of books balanced on his shoulder, Bullhorn Brodsky shook his head slightly to remove the sexy, come-hither, naked fantasy of Samantha Drake from his brain. His blood pressure returned to normal when he dropped his burden on the bedroom floor. The pretty, dark-haired young woman wearing snug jeans and a T-shirt sank down on the new bed. As their gazes connected, his libido cranked up his body heat.

“What’s next?” He yanked his shirt up to wipe off the sweat on his forehead. When he lowered it, he noticed she had been staring at his abs. A gentle flush stole into the apple of her cheeks. He smiled inwardly, gratified that the hours he’d spent in the gym had paid off.

“I’m grubby. I need a shower,” she said, pushing to her feet to glance in the mirror.

The next image to take over his mind was stepping into a steamy shower behind Samantha. He blinked a few times and took a deep breath, hoping his thoughts wouldn’t inspire an erection.

“You okay? Were the boxes too much?” Her dark, chocolate brown eyes held concern.

He laughed. “You kiddin’? That’s nothin’. I take down guys ten times that weight in every game. Geez. What do you think? I’m a p***y or something?”

She made a face.

“Sorry. I need to clean up my words.” He sensed color in his face. He’d never had a girlfriend like Samantha Drake. She was smart, beautiful, and nice. She did volunteer work at the New Life Shelter for battered women and kids. But she wasn’t his girlfriend, only a friend. With no benefits. He sighed.

“My brother, Devon, talks like that too. You’d think football players never went to college.” She handed him a cold bottle of water.

He downed the liquid. “What’s next?”

She turned around in the room and sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Bed, books, clothes, rocking chair. Hmm. How many boxes are still in the car?”

“Two.”

“Then that’s it. The place looks pretty empty.” She perched on the mattress, tucking her feet under her.

“You’ll have it furnished before you know it. Come on. I’m gonna bring those boxes up then take you out to dinner.”

“Thanks. Be right back.” Her thousand-watt smile turned his innards to jelly.

He sat in the rocking chair while Samantha washed the dirt off her luscious body. Or what he assumed was luscious. Sylvester “Bullhorn” Brodsky, known to his teammates as “Bull,” had the hots for Samantha Drake, and it was keeping him up nights. While he waited for her to want him back, his imagination ran through a half dozen things he’d like to do to her under the warming spray of hot water. She was a little slip of a thing, and he was huge. Six foot three inches tall and two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle, the offensive lineman could lift her up with one hand.

Samantha joined him in the living room. She was wearing a red sundress and black, patent leather sandals.

“Wow, you look awesome.”

“Thanks.”

They headed for the stairs.

“My own key. Just for me,” she sighed, dangling the new key ring from her finger.

“Yep. Independent.”

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a new place in town called The Greenery. It’s vegetarian. Salads and s**t. Wanna try it?”

“And s**t? I don’t think I want to eat that. But a salad sounds good.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

She laughed. “I’m proud of you—going to someplace that doesn’t have fries.”

“I didn’t say that. Their fries are organic. Sweet potato.” He grinned as he opened the car door for her.

“Are you sure we won’t run into Devon there?” she asked.

“I doubt it.”

“Just kidding. Dev wouldn’t go to a place like that. He’s a confirmed meat eater.”

He slid behind the wheel of his silver BMW SUV. Samantha leaned back into the plush, black leather seats. Bull fastened his seat belt, put the engine in gear, and pulled away from the curb.

The restaurant was a block out of downtown Monroe. Bull opened Sam’s car door and the restaurant one too. His mother had drummed gentlemanly behavior into his head. “Just because you’re big, doesn’t mean you gotta be an oaf, Sylvester.” He considered himself pretty smooth for an offensive lineman.

The waiter seated them at a table in the corner. The furniture was bamboo with green and white print tablecloths depicting all sorts of plants. There were huge, potted palms and other flora decorating the room. Bull liked the atmosphere. It was almost like a tropical rain forest.

They ordered raspberry iced tea and a plate of hearts of palm and olives as an appetizer.

Samantha picked up the dish in front of her. “I don’t have dishes. So much to buy. I forgot how expensive it is to set up an apartment.” She sighed.

“Let me help you. I can give you whatever you need.”

She took his hand. “I can’t do that, Sly. The point of moving out of my brother’s house was to be independent.”

“Okay, so call it a loan. You can pay me back, uh...never. How’s that?”

She smiled at him. “That’s so sweet. I just can’t. The director at the shelter is having surgery. She asked me to take over the night shift while she recuperates. It’s only part-time, but that extra income along with my job at the Kings should do it.”

“You’ll be working all the time. When will we get a chance to hang out?” He raised her hand to his lips.

“I’ll still have time for you.”

He gazed into her eyes and caught a glimpse of something warm. Is it desire? His heart beat a little faster. “I’ve never been to a place like this. Do you know anything about this kind of food?” he asked, his brow furrowed, as he read the menu.

“A little. I see those sweet potato fries.” She arched her eyebrows as she studied the offerings.

“I’ll have those. What else?”

“A veggie burger?”

“With enough catsup, you can eat anything,” he said, but his voice didn’t ring as confident as his words.

Sam laughed.

They placed their orders—two veggie burgers and two servings of sweet potato fries.

While they waited for their food, Sam sipped her drink.

Bull took her small hand between his. “What did you do before you worked for The Kings?”

“I worked in a small fashion boutique.”

“I can believe it.”

“What does that mean?” She raised her eyebrows.

“I mean, you dress real nice. Beautiful. I can see you working in fashion.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She looked down at their fingers entwined.

He stroked the back of hers with his thumb. “You don’t think I’d say something nasty, do you?”

“I’m still wondering why my brother doesn’t like you.”

Sly sensed his face heating. “It’s just guy crap. You know we say stuff. Stuff about women. It doesn’t mean anything. I mean, I’d never say anything like that about you.”

“Did you say stuff about old girlfriends?”

He shook his head. “Most guys just make stuff up.”

“So, you’re saying you’re a liar?”

The waiter arrived with their meal, interrupting their conversation. Bull shifted in his seat, looking for a way to change the subject.

When the server left, she pressed the issue. “So?”

“It’s not lying, exactly. Guys exaggerate.” He loaded a pile of catsup on his burger.

“Devon doesn’t do that, does he?”

Sly laughed. “Oh yeah? If he doesn’t, then he’s been dating a couple of female gymnasts.”

Samantha’s cheeks reddened as she turned her attention to her food. They ate in silence for a while. He wolfed down the fries then attacked the burger.

Change the subject, muscle head. “Movie tonight?”

“Shopping. The superstore is open late. I’ve got to have a fork, spoon, dish, and mug. Oh, and a coffeemaker!”

After dinner, Sly drove them to the giant store. Samantha filled a cart to overflowing. Sly carried the rest in a basket. She’s checking prices on everything. This lady watches her money. Tiffany, his old girlfriend, had never looked at a price tag when she was with him. She had been frivolous with his money, and it had bugged him.

“Can your trunk can hold all this?” Sam bit her lip.

He chuckled. “You’re kidding, right?”

At the checkout, he whipped out his credit card, but Samantha was adamant that she’d pay. When the total topped four hundred dollars, she gulped and paled a little, but swiped her card anyway. Outside, he loaded the bags into his car.

“If you help me, I’ll make you coffee,” she said, snuggling into the vehicle’s butter-soft leather seat.

“You don’t have to bribe me. I’d help you without the coffee,” he answered, putting his Beamer in gear.

Her apartment was on the second floor of a Victorian house a mile from the center of town. Once the bags were loaded onto the kitchen counter, they unpacked. As they washed, dried, and put the wooden spoons, flatware, china, and cooking tools away, they chatted.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asked.

“Yep. Five.”

“Me too.”

“You too?”

“Four of my siblings are much older. Devon and I are the menopause babies.” She laughed.

“He’s over protective. Has he always been that way, or just with me?”

“Always. It was nice when I was eight. Now, it’s annoying.”

“Has he ever been right about a guy you were dating?”

“Once. Last time. Bastard cheated on me.”

“That’s terrible.” Bull scowled as he stacked the dishes.

“Devon called it. Said Harry had shifty eyes. Wouldn’t look at him. Devon said that meant he was a liar and a cheater. Unfortunately, my brother was right.”

Sly put his massive paw on Sam’s shoulder, gave a little squeeze, and released. “I’m sorry, Sam. However, that guy’s stupidity is my good luck.”

She chuckled. “Guess you could put it that way.”

When they finished, Bull checked his watch. “Curfew tonight. Practice tomorrow. I’ve gotta go.” He moved toward the door.

“Already?”

He smiled to hear the disappointment in her voice. Wish I could stay and christen that new bed, sweetheart. “Are you coming to the game?” He leaned against the jamb.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great. I’ll look for you.”

“I’ll wave.”

“How about hanging out on Saturday?” He stopped and turned.

“Sure. Your place?”

“Uh, not my place. Let’s have brunch.”

“Okay.”

“Pick you up at eleven?”

“Perfect,” she replied.

Bull shifted his weight. Blood rushed to his face, and his palms sweated. “This friend thing is great. But I’m interested in more than that. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“Maybe. Don’t you have a girlfriend?” She tilted her head back to make eye contact.

“Nope. I haven’t dated anyone more than a couple of times in a long time.”

“Huh? I’m surprised. Thought football players had women crawling all over them.”

“Not the kind of women I want. I’m looking for a real woman, not a hook-up.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And what’s a ‘real woman’ like?”

“One-of-a-kind, like you.”

“Oh?” She smiled.

“Yeah. The pretty, smart, and unselfish kind.”

“Devon would argue with that.”

“What part?”

“The selfish part.”

“No woman who helps abused women and kids is selfish.” He drew her closer. “You interested?”

She cast her gaze to the ground before meeting his. “I might be.”

Sly slipped his arm around her waist and eased her up against him. Their gazes locked as he lowered his head. His eyes closed when his mouth covered hers. Using every ounce of restraint he had, he kissed her gently. When she wound her arms around his neck, he loosened the reins on his passion, swiping his tongue across her lips. She opened, and he seized the chance to explore. Their tongues slid together, and he pressed her even closer.

Sensing his control going south, Sly stepped back. His breathing ragged and blood pumping to his d**k, he took a deep breath to slow his body down. Don’t rush her, asshole. She leaned back against the wall, her eyes bright, her mouth slightly puffy and pink. He wanted to ravish her, but jammed his hands into his pockets where they would be safe.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

If he was any judge of women, she looked ready to go to the next level. But was he able to size up women? Probably not. He’d be patient with this filly, not like with Tiffany. He’d pushed her too far too fast. She had bolted, leaving him at the altar filled with anger and shame. She’d run off with another man. He figured the guy must have gone slower, given her some breathing room, not like Bull. Bull in a china shop was what he had been, and he’d be damned if he’d make the same mistake this time.

Samantha Drake was quality. No slut, no easy chick, no woman to toy with. She was of the “bring ’em home to mom” variety. He was lucky to have her attention. How many bruisers like him ended up with classy women? None he knew of.

Maybe Bullhorn Brodsky, whose booming voice could be heard in the next county, and who could bring a three-hundred-pounder to his knees, had a shot at a relationship with this exceptional woman. Don’t blow it, Sly, he’d told himself a thousand times.

If her brother had anything to say about it, Sly wouldn’t be allowed within fifty feet of her. Devon didn’t know the offensive lineman well. But too much bragging in the locker room obviously had Devon thinking Bull was a major seducer, a breaker of hearts, a guy who was only interested in getting into a woman’s pants and then disappearing. But that was a lie. Maybe he’d had a few one-night stands in his life, but Samantha Drake wasn’t in that category. She’d had him half in love with her when she’d first said hello.

He raised his hand in farewell and descended the stairs. His lips tingled, and his mind locked away the sensation to trot out and relive in his dreams.

* * * *

Samantha closed the front door and leaned back against it. Her pulse was racing, her face was hot, and she was a bit breathless. She had never expected the big man to be able to kiss like that. Of course, if he was a major seducer, that would make sense. But he appeared to be real sweet. He’d helped her move all day then taken her to dinner—his only reward a couple of steamy kisses. Doesn’t fit with the image of a major player.

He tasted like café au lait, and he smelled like a woodsy aftershave mixed with his own, unique scent. When her fingers had tightened around his biceps, a tingle had shot all the way through her. The man was solid steel. Except his warm skin. She had braced herself against his chest.

She had wanted him to make love to her. A trip to Nirvana in the arms of the offensive lineman would have been heaven. But her rational mind had stepped in, putting her libido on hold. Besides, he hadn’t asked. He’d been the first to break and left her wanting.

Her senses hadn’t yet recovered. She could still taste him, smell him, and her fingers missed the feel of him. Left frustrated was not a great place to be. She put the kettle on, hoping a cup of tea would calm her s****l desire. But she knew only a night with Sly would quell her yearnings. Or maybe that would simply stoke the fires to blazing hot, to burn inside forever.

He could have been trying to take her off guard. According to her brother, Bullhorn Brodsky was a man to avoid, a guy who had no respect for women—he’d take her body and leave her heart in pieces. She shivered at the image. After Harry, the selfish creep she’d dated for over a year, had dropped her like a hot coal in favor of an easy woman with double D’s, Samantha had become wary.

She was taking cautious to extremes. Totally committed to keeping her heart safe, she’d rather be alone than suffer pain and crushing disappointment again. There she sat. Beautiful, accomplished, sweet Samantha Drake, waiting for Mr. Perfect to pluck her off the shelf and marry her. Could Bullhorn Brodsky fulfill the ideal she had? Probably not. No one could.

Before she could analyze her predicament further, her cell rang. It was Stormy Gregory.

“I’ve been cooking for Bull Brodsky, but I don’t know him very well. Where did he take you to dinner? Is he a good kisser? Did you sleep with him?”

“The Greenery. Get this—a vegetarian restaurant. And yes, he’s a good kisser, but no, I didn’t sleep with him.”

“A vegetarian restaurant? I didn’t know we had one in Monroe.”

“It’s new.” Samantha recounted her day with the lineman to her best friend and Devon’s live-in girlfriend.

“He sounds hot.”

“He is. In that sleeveless shirt, he’s smokin’. God, he’s so huge, but he’s gentle. Didn’t grab me or crush me or anything.”

“Wonder what he’s like in bed?”

“What would Devon say if he knew you asked that question?”

“Hey, I may be committed, but I’m not dead. I can wonder. Doesn’t mean I’d do anything. Besides, when you have champagne at home, why would you want anything else?”

“Uh, TMI. That’s my brother you’re talking about. You’re grossing me out.”

“You opened the door.”

“I know. Enough.” Sam held her hand up, even though her friend couldn’t see it.

“Are you going to keep dating him?”

“We’re seeing each other Saturday. Don’t tell Devon.”

“I won’t. I think it’s cute.”

“I don’t know what to believe, Stormy.”

“Follow your heart.”

The women ended the conversation. Samantha returned to her kitchen to put away the last few items they had washed and dried. Follow my heart? That’s fine i­f I knew what was in my heart. Do I trust him? I don’t know.

Sam climbed into bed with a book, prepared for a restless night. Before she turned out the light, she wondered once more what it would be like to have Sly there with her to break-in her new mattress. She ran her hand over the cold, empty sheet on the far side, imagining he’d be warming the bedclothes. She sighed then lay back and let her mind dream. Feeling edgy, she tossed for an hour. Disgusted with herself, she threw on a robe and padded into the kitchen for some chamomile tea.

It was midnight, too late to call Stormy. She’d be asleep anyway, since Devon was in training too. She had to smile at the engagement of her best friend and her brother. They were made for each other. Her heart longed for the same closeness with a man.

Samantha’s thoughts returned to the topic that had been haunting her—Sly “Bullhorn” Brodsky. Six foot three inches of solid man. Light brown hair and bright, piercing, inquisitive gray eyes. Was he the seducer, the rotter her brother claimed, or was he the sweet gentleman who treated her like a queen?

“Will the real Bullhorn Brodsky please stand up?” she muttered to herself.

The apartment faced a side street in Monroe, Connecticut, a small town of twenty-thousand people. Sam peered out at the road, illuminated by a street lamp and the moon. Early signs of fall appeared in the small clutch of leaves that had turned red before the rest, and the gold of a small tree between the spacious homes. The street was populated with mostly Victorian, one-family homes, with a few broken into generous apartments that occupied an entire floor.

Sam wandered through the rooms, suddenly aware of how much space she had for only one person. It will cost me a fortune to furnish five rooms. What will I do with the extra bedroom?

She perched on the window seat of the bay window at the back of the house. The fenced-in yard was lit only by moonlight. Shadows danced in the cool, September breeze.

If she had been a more skittish person, the shifting darkness might have frightened her. She harrumphed and squared her shoulders. I’m no wuss. Her bravado remained until a stray cat darted across the browning grass. The sudden movement startled her. She jumped and made tracks for the front door. After checking that it was still double-locked, she returned to bed.

If Sly was here, I wouldn’t be afraid of anything, ever. Rolling over on her stomach, she punched a pillow under her chest and tilted her head to the left. Thoughts of the strong arms and big hands of the footballer made her shiver. Doubts about the man melted away as the image of curling up in his embrace and falling asleep feeling totally safe touched a need deep inside.

Denial of their physical attraction crumbled in the dead of the night, when truth can’t be easily sidestepped. She’d noticed him the first time he’d passed in the hallway. Then the second time, when on a search for her brother, she’d spied Sly draped in nothing but a towel in the locker room. Embarrassment had filled her cheeks as she’d scurried outside to wait for Devon. The lineman had simply laughed, showing no modesty at all.

Sly Brodsky. Bull. Did she want him? Sam smiled to herself. Of course, she did. But she wasn’t about to tell anyone, especially him. She could barely admit it to herself. He appeared content to wait, which was fine with her. She enjoyed being in control. Still, to be honest, she wouldn’t make him wait forever. Only as long as she could stand to back away, even when she longed to lose herself in his arms and let him take her home.

She had to be sure he was genuine, not a player. If the feelings he professed to have were false, fake, made up just to seduce her, she’d run from him as if he had the plague. But if he meant what he said, then she’d gladly warm his bed. Samantha closed her eyes, allowing herself to imagine what kind of lover he’d be. She was asleep within minutes.

Saturday morning, she plugged in her new coffeemaker and poured a bowl of cereal. As she was putting the milk back, she spied a cap on the counter by the door. She picked it up. It was white with dark turquoise lettering, The Kings. She grinned. Sly’s. Sure enough. Samantha finished her breakfast, showered quickly, and dressed in her best jeans and a bright pink shirt.

Nice excuse to drop in on Sly early this morning for a surprise visit. A glance at the clock told her it wasn’t quite eight yet. Bet he’s still in bed. A shiver shot through her at the idea of waking him. Wonder if he sleeps nude? She plucked a sweater from a hanger, fished her car keys out of her purse, and headed for the door.