With a Hitch Page 7

  I mean, if shirts could talk or think, that is.

  Sheesh, what the hell? I’m suffering delusional thoughts now. That damn kale smoothie is to blame, I just know it.

  Also, I feel like it’s necessary to address his choice of shirt, but I prefer to pick my battles wisely. The truth is, whoever told him Hawaiian shirts were in fashion lied to him. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most god-awful, gaudy shirt, this one is a strong twelve point five.

  And that’s being generous.

  “Look.” I flash him my I understand look. “It’s nerve-wracking talking about this kind of thing, but it really does help when I’m looking for your potential matches.” He remains quiet as though silently warring with himself.

  I smirk and attempt to put him at ease by joking. “This is where you might admit to partaking in some fun bondage and tie up your woman and make her scream your name or call you Daddy...”

  My clients normally laugh and blush at this point, stammering out that they either really do like that stuff—which has been rare, thus far, by the way, at least for the Daddy part—or simply proceed to disclose their preferences.

  Except that doesn’t happen with Dax. Instead, he gets this feral glint in his golden eyes and glances past me to focus on the wall décor. He shrugs. “I’m, uh, open to just about anything.”

  “Noted.” I jot that down on the paper. “But I need to know if you’re a closet dominant or submissive, or if you have any fetishes that might turn off a potential match.”

  The edges of his mouth uptick, and amusement flickers in his gaze. “You mean, if I’ve got a closet foot fetish or something?”

  Professionalism. I channel every ounce of it to prevent myself from cracking a smile. Because one never knows in this day and age whether an individual’s sexual tastes veer into the über dirty.

  I mash my lips together and nod. “Or pertaining to anything else.”

  He leans in closer, wrapping his long, tapered fingers around his large smoothie, and I’m instantly entrapped in his gaze. “Okay, so here’s the deal.” His voice is lower, huskier, and more intimate. “I like give and take. I like being in control, but I have no issues giving it over to a woman. And I don’t have any weird fetishes.” He smirks. “At least none that I’m aware of.”

  I make note of his response, and without looking up, I ask, “And do you have a position preference?” His silence has me raising my eyes to meet his.

  His brows slant together, illustrating his confusion. He cocks his head to the side. “Position preference?”

  Drawing out the words, I supply, “Like missionary, doggy style, or woman on top?”

  At his blank expression, I panic for a moment. I know I’m not dealing with a virgin here, considering how Ivy had to intervene on his behalf after he couldn’t shake a woman he’d slept with, so…

  “Reverse cowgirl, scissoring, wheelbarrow…?”

  Still nothing.

  I stare at him dubiously. “Really? Still nothing?”

  His mouth forms a slow grin. “Just wondered how far I could push before you started breaking out the really interesting positions.” He leans back in his chair, practically preening. “You sure didn’t disappoint, Cole.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, but I’m trying to suppress a smile. He really had me going for a minute there.

  Of course, it has absolutely no effect on him. That damn smile widens further. “I’d love to know more about this wheelbarrow position.”

  At my pointed expression, he holds up a large hand with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, but it was too good to pass up.” Sobering, he continues with, “I don’t really have a preference.”

  Huh. “What about foreplay and such? Are you pro or take it or leave it?”

  “Definitely pro.”

  “Oral sex: equal opportunity or do you have an aversion to it?”

  His eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he regains composure. “I’m also pro oral sex. Equal opportunity.”

  “Good to know,” I murmur, and record that in my notes. Raising my gaze to meet his, I continue. “This matchmaking process is more than meets the eye. It’s a life change. You have to be ready to commit and ensure your life’s ready to be shared with another person—that you have room for them in it.” I skim over the paperwork before I come to the other section he skipped over.

  “What do you do in your spare time?”

  He hesitates—nearly imperceptibly—but I catch it.

  “Whatever you were going to say, just say it.”

  He presses his lips thin and shrugs. “I hang out with family. Friends. I read. I run.”

  I raise my eyebrows slightly. “Sounds scintillating.”

  He grimaces. “I’m boring. I know.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Didn’t have to. I’m saying it for both of us.” His halfhearted smile tugs at me, and I feel the need to put him at ease.

  I lean in toward the table. “You obviously love your Zumba class and hanging out with the ladies in there.”

  His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Doubt that makes me more attractive.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” Whoa. My tone borders on flirtatious, and that just won’t do. I need to nip it in the bud pronto.

  I lower my gaze to my planner and explain to him the protocol for a home inspection. “Once you get to the step in the gradual process where you invite a woman over for dinner, you need to ensure your home is welcoming and doesn’t give off the feeling a fraternity lives there.”

  He drains his smoothie. “We can head there and check that off your list now if that works for you.” He rises from his seat.

  I’m taken aback. “But… don’t you need to prep or something beforehand?” Hesitantly, I follow suit and stand, sliding my paperwork into my bag.

  He frowns in confusion. “No. I mean, it’s usually clean.” He checks his watch. “Some of the guys are waiting on me since I have the biggest TV, and they wanted to play the Madden game. But they’re not slobs, by any means.” He pauses. “You’ve already met Tank and Myers. Myers’ wife is a flight attendant and out of town a lot for work.”

  “Um, o-okay.” I hesitate, glancing down at myself. “I’m not really dressed professionally for this like I normally am…”

  “Hey.” He lowers his voice, his eyes gentling. “We’re practically family since we’re both about to be godparents. I mean, sure, you’re helping me, but I’d like us to be friends, too.”

  Friends. God, this man has no idea how much his offer of friendship means to me. I can count on one hand how many true friends I have, and that number is probably pathetically low to most people. But when you grow up in foster care, you quickly learn to guard yourself, to not trust easily, to not form bonds.

  “I’d like that, too.” At my softly spoken words, his mouth forms a wide grin. Just to bust his chops, I hold up my index finger in warning. “But you need to lay off shoving the kale smoothies my way.”

  He slings his heavy arm around my shoulders, catching me by surprise as he tugs me in for a hug. “I’ll see what I can do.” His tone is laced with humor, and I allow myself a moment to revel in his easy embrace.

  With surprise, I do what I never expected.

  I hug the famous NFL player back.

  9

  Dax

  I pull into the driveway, grateful the guys left room for not only me to pull in the far side of the driveway and park in the garage but also for Darcy to park behind me.

  She exits her vehicle cautiously, staring up at the house, her features etched in what appears to be surprise.

  “Everything okay?”

  After a moment, she turns to me, her sunglasses covering her eyes. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting this”—she waves a hand, gesturing to my house—“but it seems you’re just full of surprises today.”

  I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. My increased fame drove me to purchase in a gated community for safety reasons, but compared to the other houses in this u
pscale neighborhood, mine is pretty modest.

  “I know it’s not what most people expect, but I’m not really an ostentatious kind of guy.” The itch to change the subject overwhelms me, so I gesture for her to follow me up the paved walkway to the front door. “Let’s get you a look inside and see if it’s up to your standards.”

  I punch in the code on the door’s keypad to gain entry of the house I knew, the instant the realtor led me inside, would be great to raise a family in.

  Just never expected it to take fucking forever for it to come close to happening.

  Not that it’s happening yet, but at least I can see the light at the end of the tunnel with Darcy on my side.

  Before I step over the threshold and wave her inside, I offer a loud, “Incoming female! Behave yourselves!”

  “Aww, hell.” Tank’s voice carries through the house. He lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Gotta put my pants back on. Dang it!”

  I’m not the least bit surprised by our lineman’s response. Even though he’s a great guy with a heart of gold, he’s one hell of a smartass.

  Darcy’s eyes grow wide, evidently thinking he’s serious.

  I roll my eyes. “He’s bluffing. Trust me,” I murmur as I step to the oversized mat to unlace my shoes before heading farther inside. Darcy follows suit, and I sense her silently cataloguing the foyer as we approach the open floor plan main living area. I hope she thinks it’s homey enough because God knows I tried to make it neutral and not immediately scream, A dude lives here alone!

  I tip my head in the direction of the living room, where the guys are. “Ready?”

  “Lead the way.”

  As soon as we exit the hallway that leads to the open concept layout, including the kitchen and living room, we’re bombarded.

  Or really, she is.

  Myers, our kicker, jumps up from his spot on the couch and practically sprints over to greet Darcy. He grasps her hand and drops to one knee in an exaggerated bow, ducking his head, and I can’t restrain a groan.

  “Please accept our sincere thanks and deepest sympathies for your laborious task, milady.”

  Tank busts out in loud, raucous laughter while Watson’s is more subdued, but his shoulders shake silently.

  Our lineman, who teeters around the three-hundred-pound range, is as Southern as they come. “He done bowed!” Tank wheezes, slapping his knees, as he whoops in laughter.

  “That’s enough outta you clowns,” I reprimand sternly, but it’s without any heat. I’m used to the shit talking by now. “Now, what’s this all about?” I jerk my chin in the direction of the Madden game already on the large TV screen. “You said you’d wait for me.”

  Tank schools his expression, finally getting his laughter under control. “Thought you might be preoccupied with your matchmaker all day. Because we know this is quite the undertaking.” He stands and stalks over to Darcy, enfolding her in his arms so tightly she lets out a quiet, “Oomf.” Once he releases her, he steps back as if to admire her.

  “You just get more beautiful every damn time I see you.”

  A faint blush rises across her high cheekbones, and she swats at him with a little laugh. “You smooth talker, you.” He flashes her a wide grin before returning to his spot on the couch.

  Something draws my attention to Watson, and I watch as something flickers across my new quarterback’s face as he takes in the sight of Darcy. He rises from his seat and approaches her with an outstretched hand.

  “I’m Kyler Watson. It’s nice to meet you.” He flashes that boyish aw shucks smile of his, and I barely suppress a snort.

  “Darcy Cole. Nice to meet you, as well.” Does her voice sound a little breathless? What’s with their damn handshake lasting so long?

  And why the fuck am I feeling so damn protective of her? Shit.

  I step forward and slap Watson on the back. “That’s enough. This lovely lady needs to look around and make sure the place is up to snuff for a date that I bring here.”

  Tank’s lips part, but I jab an index finger in his direction and warn, “Behave.”

  He mashes his lips closed. “Not a peep outta me,” he mumbles before pretending to zip his lips and toss away the key.

  As if that’s even possible.

  When I meet Darcy’s eyes, I detect her amusement and tip my head in the direction of the rest of the house. “Ready to see everything else?”

  “Lead the wa—” She stops abruptly, her brows pinching together, and my stomach plummets when I notice what she’s zeroed in on.

  The infamous chair my mom got for me.

  Fuck me.

  “Um, Dax?” She poses her words carefully, her eyes flitting back and forth between me and the chair. She points at the large leather chair. “What is that?”

  Without tearing their eyes from where they’re glued to the game on TV, the guys answer her in unison. “That’s D’s sex chair.”

  Her expression morphs into a mixture of disbelief and shock. “I’m sorry… what?”

  Myers finally turns his head in our direction. “That’s the sex chair Mrs. K got for him.”

  Darcy blinks. Then her eyes lock on me. “Please explain.”

  With a groan, I scrub a hand along my jaw, the short scruff rasping against my palm. “My mom loves garage sales and likes to buy me stuff.”

  “Mrs. K. never jumped on that whole ‘Let’s kick back and enjoy my son’s wealth’ bandwagon,” Tank chimes in without tearing his eyes off the game.

  “So she buys him those god-awful Hawaiian shirts, and he’s too damn much of a mama’s boy to deny her the pleasure of seeing her only son in some heinous tropical excuse for a shirt.” Myers grins.

  “O-kay.” Darcy draws out the word slowly, turning back to me. “But that still doesn’t explain why you have a”—she breaks off to hook her fingers in air quotes—“‘sex chair’ in your living room.”

  “His mama found him a good”—Tank mimics Darcy’s use of air quotes—“‘reading chair.’” He’s barely restraining his laughter. “Even cleaned and disinfected it for him.”

  “You know,” Myers pipes up helpfully, “to get all the spunk and— Ow!” He rubs his side where Tank elbowed him.

  “Son!” our lineman admonishes. “Don’t be usin’ that language around a lady.”

  Watson stands and saunters over to the chair before plopping down on it, his short blond hair tousled slightly from the movement. How the tall quarterback manages to make that look graceful is a miracle. “I think it’s pretty comfy.”

  Myers rises to stride over and swing a leg over top Watson’s lap but remains standing. “I was watching the tutorial for this thing, and they show all sorts of interesting positions. I was like, Nah. Is that actually his di—penis? Are they really goin’ at it? But, yup.” He nods casually as though he’s talking about the latest projections from the ESPN analysts. “You watch it and see for yourself.”

  “Dude. You basically just admitted to watching a porno in front of a lady.”

  Myers shrugs as if it’s nothing. “Not the first time in my life and certainly not the l—”

  “Gentlemen,” Darcy interrupts, holding up a hand to stop them. “I get the idea. Still.” She turns to me. “I’m not entirely certain this is the place for it. Maybe it should go in your bedroom instead.”

  “Aww, Miss Darcy!” Tank bellows dramatically. “You can’t go deprivin’ the rest of us of this chair!” He lays a hand on his chest over his heart. “It’s the chair that keeps giving!”

  She remains silent, simply staring back at him.

  “No?” His expression is hopeful. “Nothin’?”

  “Nope.”

  His face falls. “Damn. I’m losin’ my mojo,” he mutters, chin to chest, his expression one of utter sadness. Then he snaps his head up. “At least feel the buttery soft leather.”

  Darcy’s gaze darts over to the chair, and she falls silent. Just when I think she’s wavering and might give in, Myers and Watson ruin it.

 
“Myers, would you get your groin outta my line of sight? I see enough of it in the damn locker room.”

  “What about this?” Myers reverses his position. “This would be doggy style.” Then he raises his leg and props it up in a stretching move only a flexible kicker could pull off. “Or this one could be called the steer, I think.”

  “Myers!” we all say in warning.

  He frowns with a sigh and steps away from the chair. “Geez. I was only trying to be informative.”

  Darcy releases a long exhale before turning to me. I’m not entirely sure if she’s irritated or trying to restrain a smile. “Let’s table this subject for now. How about you show me the rest of the place?”

  “Sounds good.” I head toward the stairs a few feet away, and she follows me in silence.

  Of course, I should know better than to assume the guys will behave themselves. As soon as my foot hits the first step, Myers calls out, “Don’t forget to show her your special sex dungeon!”

  “Oh, wait!” Tank’s exaggerated whisper-yell drips with mock concern. “Did you let the last chick out or did you forget to unchain her? Shit.”

  I continue up the stairs, a silent Darcy trailing me. My hand on the rail tightens to a punishing grip.

  “Weren’t you supposed to remind him?” This comes from Watson.

  “Nope,” Myers answers nonchalantly. “I chain ’em up. Not my job to unchain ’em.”

  Tank again. “They just can’t get enough of his beautiful cocoa skin.”

  “Right?” Myers agrees. “He’s running out of room down there.”

  “Guys?” I call out from the top of the stairs.

  “Yeah, D?” they answer.

  “Two words.” For emphasis, I pause before lowering my voice to a low, dangerous tone. “No cake.”

  Immediately, the three men call out, “Sorry!”

  I pad down the hall to stop at the first door, only to find Darcy eyeing me curiously.

  “What was that all about?” Her expression carries both amusement and curiosity. “No cake is some sort of code word?”

  I shrug. “Kind of.”

  When I don’t explain further, she leans in closer and whispers, “As your matchmaker, would it be useful for me to know this?”