Quarterback Sneak Read online

  Quarterback Sneak

  Copyright 2014 by Desiree Holt

  Published by Desiree Holt

  Copyright 2014 Cover Art by Carey Abbott

  Editing and Formatting Services by Wizards in Publishing

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Quarterback Sneak

  A Red Hot Valentine Story

  By

  Desiree Holt

  Chapter One

  The Kickoff

  “All men are assholes.”

  Stacy Halligan slouched in a corner of her couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. A half-finished glass of wine—her third—rested on the side table by her hand. Somehow, the smooth flavor of the merlot hadn’t eased the sharp edge of pain she rode. Instead, it tasted more like vinegar.

  “I assume present company excepted?” Max Sullivan, stretched out in her big armchair, grinned at her, and took a swallow of beer.

  “You’re just a man in the generic meaning of the word,” she grumped.

  His smile disappeared. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t get your shorts in a twist.” Stacy levered herself up and took a sip of the wine, making a face. “I mean, you have all the right equipment.” She ran her gaze over his tall, muscular body. “At least, I assume you do, since I haven’t seen it firsthand. But I never think of you as a man. Exactly.”

  He frowned. “And exactly how do you think of me?”

  “You’re my best friend. My bud. My comfort zone.” She flopped a hand at him. “You know. We hang out together. Drink beer and eat pizza. Tell each other shit. I don’t have to worry if my makeup’s messed up or I’m wearing the right clothes.”

  “Yeah?” Max cocked his head. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

  Stacy scowled. What bothered him tonight? Usually he sat there listening while she vented about her latest romantic disaster, making appropriate comments. At least, appropriate to her.

  They’d been neighbors for three years, ever since she bought the condo next to his. When he came over to introduce himself and she learned he was a football player, backup quarterback for the city’s NFL team, the Warriors, she blew him off. She had been ready to write him off as a muscle-bound jerk who used and discarded women and barely had room to fit himself and his ego in the same room.

  Max, however, was persistent in his and actually turned out to be a nice guy with a great sense of humor. Since neither of them seemed to fit the other’s dating profile, they didn’t have to do the usual mating dance. Instead, they became very comfortable together, hanging out on weekends when they had no other plans, helping out when circumstances called for it.

  Like now, when her latest so-called romance crashed and burned like a comet falling from the sky.

  She liked Max. Really liked him. He made no demands on her except to take in his mail and keep an eye on his place when he traveled with the team. In return, he provided refreshments on nights like tonight when her life fragmented again and she needed someone to help her pick up the pieces.

  How did she make such consistently poor choices where men were concerned? You’d think the feature writer for a woman’s magazine would have a better grasp of what men were all about. Would have a stronger bullshit meter. But no, she simply kept going from one disaster to another. Maybe it came from being the gray dove to a peacock of an older sister. Or a hangover from college where her roommate barely passed her classes yet scored very high in hot men. So she’d concentrated on her writing, her career, secretly hoping some man would come along and coax her out of her bland environment.

  Unfortunately, she chose men very unwisely.

  Assholes.

  Why couldn’t she fall for someone like Max? And why suddenly think of Max and romance in the same breath?

  She had to admit he was damn appealing, with his tall, muscular athlete’s body. Mouthwatering, even in the ragged T-shirt and worn jeans he wore. His midnight black hair, the thick kind women loved to run their fingers through, and his ocean blue eyes, framed by equally dark eyebrows and lashes, were what romance novels would call mesmerizing. Lips that looked as if they knew their way around a woman’s mouth.

  Jeez, Stacy. Get over it. What’s with you? This is Max. Solid, comfortable, dependable Max. My brain must be cooked because of my latest self-inflicted disaster.

  “Stacy?”

  She blinked, suddenly aware he spoke to her.

  “Huh?” She blinked again. “What?”

  “Where did you go in that pretty head of yours? You zoned right out on me.”

  Giving herself a mental shake, she reached for the wine again. One word stuck in her mind.

  “You think I’m pretty?”

  Max tilted his head, studying her. “Of course I do. You’re a damn fine looking woman.”

  “Oh, great. Damn fine looking. You sound like you’re describing my mother. Or worse, my grandmother.” She lifted her wine glass then set it back down. It had truly lost its flavor for her tonight.

  Max set his beer on the floor beside him and hitched forward in his chair.

  “What’s this really all about, Stace? Is it that jerk, Kurt? I told you he was a loser. You should have listened to me.”

  “You say that about every man I introduce you to,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe you take up with the wrong men,” he suggested.

  “What?” She gritted her teeth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s just that ever since I’ve known you, the men you hook up with have been asswipes.”

  “Asswipes? Good word. I like that better than assholes.”

  “Anyway, you’ve had breakups before. Plenty since I’ve known you. What’s so bad about the latest one that it’s got you all uptight?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. How could she explain it to him? She shared the blame. She obviously didn’t put thought into the men she chose or the relationships that developed with them. She spent so much time on assignments for the magazine she just hadn’t put the right kind of effort into her dating situation.

  She already knew the other females at work thought her a dating loser. When they talked about hot weekends, she slugged down nonfat decaf lattes and wrapped herself in the misery of her latest breakup. She’d stopped contributing to their dating adventure stories since hers always had such pathetic endings. Why couldn’t she hold onto a man?

  Kurt was merely the latest mistake, but also the worst. She never should have dated someone on the staff, especially the hot marketing guy everyone lusted over. Her problem? Flattered he asked her out, she’d ignored the warnings from her colleagues that she was not his type and she’d just get hurt. Not his type? What the hell did that mean? Did they have such a low opinion of her because she didn’t flaunt her body and make an ass of herself the way a lot of the other females did? Well, whatever. Now, not only had she been dumped but she’d also been exposed to a humiliation way too public for her satisfaction. She did her best to ignore the I-told-you-so looks even as she imagined all the whispered comments.

  “Stacy?” Max prompted her again, his voice gentle. “Aren’t you the same woman who’s been telling me for three years romance is nothing but a myth made up by greeting card companies and florists? The one who keeps saying it’s a line men hand out to women? That you didn’t have time for more than meaningless sex
and a lot of laughs?”

  “It was easier that way,” she mumbled.

  “Excuse me? I can’t hear you.” He cupped his ear. “Could you repeat that, please?”

  “You heard me. I said, it’s easier. You guys are all alike. All you want is a lot of laughs and a lot of sex and then a handshake when it’s over. Or maybe not even the handshake. So if I don’t take things seriously, I don’t get hurt.”

  “Let’s be clear. When you say ‘you guys,’ I assume you’re lumping me in with the general male population?”

  ”If the shoe fits.”

  He stared. “I think I’m insulted. How the hell would you know if I’m like that? Do you follow me around?”

  Her cheeks heated again. “No, of course not. But I see the parade of female characters in and out of your townhouse. They could almost be interchangeable.”

  “It’s hardly a parade.” Max leaned back and rested an ankle on the opposite knee. “Anyway, you’re making a lot of assumptions here, Stacy. Maybe I just haven’t found the right woman to get serious with yet. I lead a pretty busy life, you know.”

  “That’s nothing but an excuse.” She flapped a hand at him. “You make time in your life for me.”

  “That’s—”

  “That’s what?” she demanded.

  “Different,” he finished in a lame voice.

  “Because I’m not like a real woman, right?” she snapped. “I want conversation instead of getting naked fifteen seconds after we meet. I want to do something besides roll around on the sheets. And I don’t want to have to fluff up the packaging every time I turn around. Go ahead. Say it. Out loud.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “I’m sorry. Really. I’m just so depressed right now.”

  “Don’t take what I’m saying the wrong way, but I’d think someone who writes features for a woman’s magazine would have a different take. Or have you been so busy producing stuff—articles, whatever—to give other women their dreams that you forgot what it takes to have your own? So again, what’s so different this time? And what makes Kurt so special?”

  “He broke up with me two weeks before Valentine’s Day.” The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “He told me he had something special planned. I guess this was it, damn it.”

  “Valentine’s Day?” Max parroted.

  “Yeah, you know. Big day for lovers? Hearts and flowers? Candy? Wine? Maybe jewelry? Big romantic dinner? The works?”

  “Valentine’s Day,” Max said again, taking another swallow of beer.

  “You say that like it’s a foreign concept,” she snarked. “It happens every February fourteenth. Surely you’ve heard of it before. Sent flowers to your gaggle of females. Oh, wait. You probably have so many, you order an assistant do it. Someone at the team complex.”

  Max slammed his beer bottle down on the floor beside his chair. “Stacy, what in the fuck has gotten into you tonight? I don’t have a—what did you call it?—a gaggle of women, and you know that. I’m better than that. And I didn’t think you were so shallow all that crap meant life or death to you.”

  She wanted to cry, something she seldom did. Why be nasty to Max because of her disappointment in herself, in what her life had become? All work and meaningless play.

  “Stace?” he prompted.

  “Every year we do a special issue for V-Day.” She nibbled a fingernail. “Our issue this year is spectacular. Lots of shots of lovers in romantic settings. Great ads that promise all kinds of fantasies from pleasant dreams to gigantic orgasms. With the situation so hot and heavy with Kurt, I bought into the myth myself.”

  Max’s eyebrows rose. “Gigantic orgasms? Where’s that ad?”

  She waved a hand at him. “You know what I mean.”

  He looked at her, curiosity stamped on his face. “I do?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know if it was Kurt himself, to tell you the truth. All the women drooled over him, though, and I finally thought I was a big deal because we were a couple. He made it no secret when we broke up because he’s trolling for his next conquest.”

  “And he’s the guy you’re crying over?” Max had an incredulous look on his face.

  “Okay, I’ll say it. He fed my ego.” She let out a long sigh. “And now, I won’t have a date for the big Valentine’s party. Again. What makes it worse is he’ll be at the event. The publisher demands everyone’s attendance, so I’ll have to show up and watch him playing touchy-feely with someone else while putting up with everyone’s pity all night long.” She brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “Damn, Max. How did I get it so wrong?”

  “Maybe, subconsciously, you knew all these other guys weren’t worth your time, so you forced the breakup. Did you ever think of that?”

  “Huh?” She stared at him.

  “Stace, don’t get mad at me but think for a minute. If you were really into any of them, you’d be a lot more than ticked off. You’d be devastated. They might just not be what you’re looking for. Maybe first you have to figure out what you really want.”

  “If I tell you what I want, you’ll think I’m a brainless female.”

  “You’re not,” he protested. “You are a beautiful, desirable woman who happens to pick men who are self-centered jerks.”

  “Yeah, right,” she snorted.

  “Come on, honey,” he coaxed. “This is me. Good old Max. We can say whatever we want to each other, right? So let’s hear it.”

  “I’m going to sound really stupid.” She sighed.

  “The only stupid thing is not saying what’s on your mind.” His mouth curved in a crooked grin. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”

  Stacy dropped her gaze to her lap. “I want—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  Max leaned his elbows on his knees. “What would you really like here, Stacy? Another man in your life? Someone to make Kurt jealous? Make him realize what he’s thrown away so he’ll come crawling back to you? Someone you can show off to the females you work with?”

  Was that what she wanted?

  Stacy nodded. “Yes. Like that. Sort of. Let him—all of them—see what they’re missing.” She chuffed a laugh. “And I want a really hot date for the Valentine’s party.”

  “Clue me in on the party you keep talking about.”

  “The publisher hosts one every year for everyone on the editorial staff and in the marketing and sales departments. For five years, I’ve always been on the downside of a breakup. My so-called dates have usually been someone I coerced into going with me, or else I went alone.” She glanced down in her lap. “Three of the women on the staff recently got engaged, and two more are in the middle of planning their weddings. One time—one time—I want someone to say, ‘Wow! Look who Stacy showed up with.’”

  “That’s what you want.”

  “Uh huh. Oh, and preferably a guy who’ll romance me for a week or so leading up to it, so the office gossips will be full of jealousy rather than pity.”

  “Romance you,” he repeated. “Take you to the party.”

  “Yes. See? I told you it was stupid. “ She rubbed her forehead.” Forget I even brought it up.”

  “No, no, no. Not forgetting anything.” Max picked up his bottle, drained the rest of his beer, set it back down. “Okay, then. I’ve got a suggestion.”

  I have to be out of my fucking mind.

  Max studied the woman across from him and wondered what level of insanity prompted him to speak so freely. Putting his hand in a vat of boiling water might cause less distress, yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  His very well-kept secret was he’d wanted Stacy Halligan from the day she moved in next door to him. His first glimpse of her—trim figure clad in cutoffs hugging a very sweet ass, a ragged University of Michigan T-shirt, thick auburn hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, kissable lips in a face free of makeup that he sure didn’t think it needed.

  Even then, she’d had attit
ude. The movers carried in the heavy pieces for her, but she seemed determined to haul the stuff from her car herself, refusing help when the movers offered. The day was hot and within an hour she’d sweated through that T-shirt, her nipples like sweet cherries nudging the soft fabric. And every time she bent over to get another armful from the trunk or the back seat, those shorts outlined every inch of her delectable ass.

  He could have hidden in his condo. However, curiosity got the better of him. So, he pulled his car out of the garage and proceeded to wash it in the heat of the day, despite the inevitable water-spotting. It gave him a chance to watch her, and also allowed him to hide behind the vehicle to disguise the painful erection poking at his jeans.

  Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Waiting until the last of the boxes and bags and suitcases were in her place, he grabbed two bottles of beer from his fridge and carried them over there. She opened the door, her face set in a fierce frown. He’d never met a woman with quite so much attitude, and he wondered where the hell it came from. For a moment, he thought she might send him away. But he held up the beer and offered a hopeful smile. “Hi, I’m the welcome wagon.”

  Then her eyes lit on the beer and her tight mouth relaxed into a rueful grin. “I sure could use one of those—moving day is always a bear.”

  Not that Max didn’t have plenty of women in his life. Even as a backup on the team, he was sought after by the football groupies. Plus, all his friends who were coupled kept trying to fix him up. He played it casually, never indicating a situation was anything but relaxed and fun. He had yet to find a woman he wanted to see more than three or four times, and certainly not one he considered making a part of his life.

  Then Stacy marched into his life, and he’d been hooked ever since.

  He struggled with being her friend when he wanted to rip her clothes off, drag her into his bed, and tell her how he felt. Especially since, from their conversations, she considered him a friend, no more, so he took what he could get. Only it burned his ass the way she constantly chose—okay, her word—assholes who didn’t treat her the way he thought they should.