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WREN
“Motherfucker!” I growled as I trapped the screwdriver between my teeth. I was so freaking done with this knee brace, but after last night’s rehearsal, I couldn’t go without it. Especially because I had two more nights of rehearsals ahead of me this week. I bent at the waist and adjusted the tension on the brace. The scar from my surgery was pronounced, slashing the skin around my kneecap.
A permanent reminder of the hellish months at the end of last season.
I reached above my head again, choosing to focus on the rhythm of Cole Swindell’s “Flatliner.” We would be dancing in our boots on the turf tonight. It was my first night rehearsing on the fifty-yard line and boy, was I nervous.
Of the five seasons I had been a dancer for the Ladies in Red, I had never been more anxious than I was today. I finished unscrewing the last of the recessed lights that were flush into the ceiling above the kitchen island.
If I could just get the new light fixture installed before I had to get to the stadium…
Hands wrapped around my bare calves. I shrieked, dropping the screwdriver and flailing to take a swing at my attacker.
So, this is how I died. All those public service announcements that warned women not to have headphones on were true. Dammit.
I spun. My foot caught the edge of the kitchen island, and I careened downward toward the porcelain floor tiles. But I never hit the ground. Tatum’s concrete arms cradled me against his granite chest.
“Oh!” I squeaked as my limbs collapsed in on each other. Before I could make sense of which way was up, Tatum was setting my ass on the lip of the island.
He cocked a thick eyebrow. “I thought birds were supposed to fly.” There was a faint hint of Boston in his accent, but I was quickly distracted by a flash of pearly white. I still didn’t know what he did—just that he made a butt load of money. He should have been selling toothpaste with that smile.
Or Calvin Klein underwear with those abs and that bulge…
We never completely lost our clothes, though I ended up more undressed than he did. Still, I could feel the steel of his thighs beneath me as I rode his dick. The hard grid of abdominals flexing as he thrust his hips up, meeting mine.
I couldn’t help but laugh at his joke. “Some birds fly. I, however, am a clumsy ostrich.”
“You gonna kick me?” He took a wary step back as he asked the question. I stole the opportunity to take him in.
Nope.Last night was not a drunken hallucination. Buzzed, yes, but in the harsh light of day, Tatum was just as painfully attractive as he had been last night when we threw caution to the wind.
Even sitting on the kitchen island, I had to crane my head up to meet his gaze. He was wearing a t-shirt today. A sports drink company’s slogan was screen printed on the gray fabric, promising high performance and unmatched power. Big claims for drinks flavored with the name of a color.
The fabric of his t-shirt strained at heavy pectorals. Tattoos I couldn’t make out in the dim restaurant covered his arms in sleeves. A pair of red mesh shorts hung off his narrow hips. Even his ankles were sexy, accented by a pair of brand-new running shoes.
“Why would I kick you?” I asked as I attempted to slide off the kitchen island. No dice—Tatum’s arms bracketed my hips, caging me in against the granite.
“Ostriches kick when provoked. Saw it on an Animal Planet special.”
“Are you provoking me?”
His eyelids lowered as he towered over me, and I felt my blood turn to a simmer. “Do you want me to?”
I slid off the island and stood chest to stomach with him. Tatum didn’t move a muscle. Instead of playing his game, I turned on the charm. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Bryant.” I glanced at the clock. “Had I known you would be home early, I would have already been gone.”
“Well, then,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “It’s a good thing I didn’t tell Sam I’d be home early today.” A devastatingly slow smile crept up his face as he took a step back and looked me up and down with obvious appraisal. “You look a lot different than you did at the restaurant a few nights ago.”
Today had been an antique store browse-a-thon day. I perused a few of my favorite shops for unique finds to complete the A-frame house in Newport. One of the pickers who owned an antique store between the Providence River Walk and India Point Park always held the “good stuff” behind the counter for me to look at before they went out onto the sales floor. I had picked up a few things for Tatum’s place before heading to the hardware store for the fixtures I had ordered. The crew I favored for projects that required technical skills like electric, plumbing, and carpentry was finishing up at the Newport house.
Tatum’s place didn’t need much. Most of the work would come down to hand picking furniture and art, then redoing a few of the builder-standard finishes. If I could get a head start by replacing some of the fixtures myself, I sure as hell would.
I looked down at my clothes. I was in a Red Cocks tank top and the skin-tight shorts I would dance in tonight at rehearsal. I had a penchant for staying at job sites until the very last minute and didn’t want to be late to the stadium.
Blush painted my cheeks. “It’s been a busy day. I wasn’t planning on seeing any clients.”
But he wasn’t looking at my clothes. His brows drew in as he studied my knee brace. My cheeks burned at the embarrassment of him catching me looking like this. I hadn’t worn the brace when I met him for dinner last night. Or the subsequent hookup. And he hadn’t seen my scar because I’d worn tights under my dress.
“ACL surgery?” He sounded surprised.
