Tackled by the Girl Next Door Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Tackled

  by the

  Girl Next Door

  by

  Susan Scott Shelley and Veronica Forand

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Tackled by the Girl Next Door

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Susan Scott Shelley and Veronica Forand

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-456-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedications

  For my husband, my forever hero.

  Thank you for encouraging me to chase my dreams.

  ~Susan

  ~*~

  For Jim, my husband and best friend.

  Your passion and dedication to both work and family

  is inspiring.

  ~Veronica

  Chapter One

  Saturday

  Jacket collar turned up against the chill, Samantha O’Brien inhaled the crisp air and raked more leaves into the large pile by her side. Her brother’s chore, but with his friends lounging on her couch and sprawled over her rug, Kevin’s promise of “later” was as empty as the beer cans littering her kitchen table. His hostility toward her role as his guardian had only intensified since he’d gone away to college and begun to ignore every request she’d given him.

  College kids had to blow off some steam after midterms, but only two weeks into being twenty-one, Kevin was overdoing it.

  Music blaring from the open door competed with the voices of the four guys walking from the house and into the front yard.

  Kevin swaggered toward her. “Sam, I’ll be back in a few. I need to take a drive to the liquor store.”

  God, more alcohol? Lips briefly pressing together, Sam gripped the rake. “You’re not in any condition to drive.”

  “I’m fine.” With keys dangling from his fingers, he lumbered closer. Three of his football teammates flanked his sides.

  “No way.” She tossed the rake aside, snatched the keys, and stuffed them into her jacket’s inside pocket.

  “Hey, what the hell?” Kevin’s hand reached for the keys, then formed a fist. Built like a linebacker, he towered over her—a large, imposing giant. He’d inherited her share of height along with his.

  “I said no.” She craned her neck to keep their gazes connected.

  His eyes narrowed. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not a kid anymore. Hand ’em over.”

  Enough. She pointed toward the street. “Party’s over. Everybody needs to walk home now.”

  “You can’t kick my friends out of here.”

  “I can, and I did.” Heat spiked through her limbs and tightened her stomach. Being ten years older and the person who paid all the bills and Kevin’s tuition, she not only had the right, but the responsibility to shut the party down. After all, he was the only reason she’d abandoned her dream career at a wealth management firm in New York City, returned home, and settled for a job with the local accounting company.

  Kevin wrapped his hand around her elbow. “Give me my keys.”

  She jerked her arm away, and her nail scraped her neck. “Damn it. Kev, back off.”

  A kid as tall and wide as a refrigerator stood at her back. “Come on, Sam, lighten up.”

  She glared at him before she focused on her brother. “The keys are to my car, and you’re not allowed to drive it right now. Go inside and drink some water or coffee to sober up.”

  Large, meaty hands grabbed her arms from behind and manacled her wrists. “Don’t be such a killjoy, sweetie.”

  She twisted against the iron grip. Her pulse pounded like a jackhammer in her chest. “Go home, all of you.”

  Kevin grabbed her jacket. His knuckles whitened, and he tugged her toward him, knocking her off balance.

  His aggression sent tremors up her spine. With adrenaline coursing through her system, she kicked out. Her knee connected with his thigh. “Get off me.”

  “Let her go.” A deep, rich baritone barked out the order. Large hands gripped the collar of Kevin’s coat and pulled him away.

  Jason Black, Sam’s best friend and six feet four inches of chiseled perfection, filled her view, blocking her from Kevin, and facing down the goon holding her wrists. His leather jacket outlined shoulders as wide as cinder blocks. Hazel eyes sparked a warning at the group of guys huddled around them. “Go home. Now.”

  Sam wrapped her freed arms around her middle and stepped closer to her impromptu bodyguard. Her heartbeat thudded, hard and strong. How had things spiraled so far out of control?

  Jason’s hand rested on her shoulder. The solid weight ensured protection and set off the familiar stirring in her heart that had developed since he’d returned home. Probably a one-sided stirring. He’d never noticed her as anything other than a friend.

  Kevin jammed his hands in his pockets. The mutinous look on his face abated as he studied Jason’s fighting stance. “Fine. We’ll walk to the store. Sam, you’re nothing but a downer. I can’t wait until the Thanksgiving break’s over. I want out of this house.” Calling for his friends to follow, he stomped across the lawn, cutting through her pile, scattering the leaves.

  Anger wrestled with hurt, and tears needled her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek until the urge to cry dissipated.

  “You okay?” Jason pulled her closer. Concern softened the hard angles of his face.

  Clearing her throat, she nodded. “Thanks for coming over.”

  “I was pulling in my driveway when I heard you yell.” He patted her shoulder. “You look like you’re freezing. I’ll take care of the leaves.”

  “No. I’ll finish out here. Or start over, I guess.” The cold wind tousled his dark hair as the sky deepened from orange to indigo. An espresso-colored lock hung in his eyes.

  “Come on, Sam, don’t make me fight you for the rake.” His smile could charm a genie from a bottle. She couldn’t deny him anything when he flashed her that full-on grin.

  “If you insist.” Hands shaky, she passed him the rake. “You might get a blister, though.”

  “Not using my hands for much else anymore. I don’t think a few blisters will slow me down.” His dry tone tugged a smile onto her face. Sporadic visits, some short, some long, had punctuated his many long absences as he chased around the country after a pigskin. The past few months of seeing him on a daily basis showed her how much she missed him when he was gone.

  “I guess I’ll get started on cleaning up Kevin’s party mess inside.” Her breath hitched. She turned toward the house, but his hand caught hers and halted her progress.

  “He’s lucky to have you.” Jason�
��s voice softened, and his warm fingers sent currents of heat tingling through her.

  “Kevin may not think he’s so lucky, but he’s stuck with me.” She wouldn’t break down, not in front of Jason. He’d been through enough without the added bother of having to comfort her again. Sam pasted a smile on her face and hurried inside, curling her fingers into her palm to trap the heat remaining from his touch.

  Chapter Two

  Sunday

  A perfect autumn Sunday in Pennsylvania meant apple picking and football games. For Jason Black, it meant hiding out in Sam’s house away from his father’s pressure to tie up his old life in Los Angeles and make concrete plans for the future. He carried two large cups of coffee and a dozen donuts up to her front door. After shifting the balance of the cups from side to side, he opened the door and entered. He’d followed this ritual every Sunday since his return to Glynneath in September.

  “Sam? You home?”

  “I’ll be down in a minute. Take off your shoes so you don’t mess up my carpet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pulled off his shoes and left them by the front door. Her two bedroom house was smaller than the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. His parents’ house stood next door, a four bedroom mostly uninhabited colonial, but size alone didn’t matter as much as comfort and fit. And Sam’s home fit Jason’s needs perfectly. The warm yellow walls and denim couch made it a sanctuary for a newly retired football player.

  He placed the coffee and the donuts on the table and then reclined across the couch in front of the 72-inch HD TV he’d bought for her so he didn’t miss a play on the screen. She’d been so angry at him when he had her box TV carted away, but he refused to watch the games on the puny thing she called a television. She finally gave in when he’d promised to donate another to the local children’s hospital.

  Sam hopped down the stairs in the same way she’d always arrived in the living room, skipping over the bottom two steps. She flopped onto the couch next to him, landing at his feet. Dressed in baggy sweatpants and a Penn State sweatshirt, she tapped his shin until he made more room for her. He shifted his legs next to the coffee on the table. And sighed. This place was better than home.

  “Thanks for breakfast. Someday, I’ll make you some pancakes or something.” She leaned back into the pillows and stretched her legs next to his. Her darkened eyes showed the strain of the night before.

  “You always make lunch, so we’re even. You okay after last night?”

  “Embarrassed, but physically fine.” Her brown hair pulled into a ponytail revealed a scratch on the side of her neck. Not physically fine. The thought of her being manhandled by a bunch of overgrown adolescents sent his blood boiling, but he held his temper. She didn’t need to handle another angry male in her house.

  Ten months after her husband had died in Iraq, her mother had died in a car accident. Her mother’s death forced her to give up a job she loved and move home to help her brother finish high school and pay for his college. The little shit didn’t deserve her as a sister. “Is he home?”

  “No. I’m sure he’s sleeping off the alcohol at a friend’s house. I hope so.”

  The memories of her wide-eyed expression and her shaky voice trying to hold onto some dignity as the group of college boys knocked into her would forever be tattooed on his soul. How could anyone harm someone like Sam? She was the nicest person he knew.

  He’d have a talk with Kevin when he returned, and Kevin may not like the tone of the conversation. “Good thing he left. If he or one of his homeboys ever lays a hand on you again, I swear, their balls will be shoved so far down their throats, they’ll pass for ovaries.”

  She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Thanks for the image.”

  Her smiling face helped him relax. He handed her coffee to her. “Extra light, two sugars.”

  “I’m impressed you always remember.” She reached for a chocolate-frosted donut. “I don’t understand how Brittney could give you up for a loser famous for being a loser.”

  “Don’t trash Brittney. She’s a sweet kid.”

  “You amaze me. Two days after you’re permanently sidelined with a knee injury, she dumps you for a reality television star, and you call her a sweet kid.”

  She took a bite of the donut, and chocolate covered her top lip. Not the most graceful eater, she bit into the donut again and ended up with frosting on her chin as well. Jason shook his head and wiped it off with his finger. He licked the chocolate off his finger and took another sip of coffee.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Don’t worry about Brittney. My heart came out of the relationship in one piece. I wasn’t looking for forever when we dated, and neither was she.”

  “I could never be so blasé about someone I slept with.”

  Jason didn’t try to explain it to her. She’d never understand. She was the settle down and raise a family type of woman. Hell, she’d probably have had a handful of kids by now if Alex hadn’t been gunned down by an insurgent Iraqi at age twenty-five. What a waste. They’d made a great couple.

  Sam drank her coffee and finished her donut while Jason flipped through pre-game shows, most of them giving piss-poor predictions of the afternoon games.

  “You’re doing it again,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Arguing with the television.”

  “So.” He hated poor commentary.

  “If you miss the game so much, maybe you should find a job to keep you in football, like coaching or commentating.”

  “I’m not ready.” He needed to start making plans for his future but wanted to enjoy the transition period from a regimented schedule of practices and games to the less scripted life of a thirty-four-year-old ex-athlete a little while longer.

  “Sorry,” Sam said.

  “No problem. You’re the last person I feel pressure from. That’s why I like watching the games in your living room.”

  “I thought it was for the free beer and homemade chili at lunch.”

  “That too.”

  “Do you mind if I run for a few miles while you watch the game? You can turn up the volume if the treadmill’s too loud.”

  “Run?”

  She nodded and, ponytail swishing, punched him in the arm. “Apparently, you don’t know everything about me. I try to get in three miles by seven a.m. Alex and I went running every morning before his deployment. Our best conversations occurred as the sun rose. After he died, I kept at it. Kevin’s antics ruined my sleep last night, and I didn’t wake in time.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll cheer you on.”

  “Maybe I can get you moving at the crack of dawn now that your knee is better.” She walked over to the treadmill in the corner of the room.

  “Maybe.” He could no longer run fast enough or turn sharp enough to catch passes, but he could cover three miles running at an easy pace.

  The game was starting and he’d been looking forward to this match up all week. He shut everything out and concentrated on the television. San Francisco versus Houston. He mentally ran through the line-up and tried to anticipate the plays. The face of Houston’s rookie wide receiver who’d been called up from the practice squad filled the screen. San Fran’s defense would be chomping at the bit for a piece of the kid. Better be prepared to get hit like you’ve never been hit before. His knee twinged. He missed the camaraderie of the locker room, but he didn’t miss waking up the morning after a game day feeling like a Mack truck ran him over.

  The treadmill hummed in the background. When Sam started running, her feet created a drumbeat rhythm. He turned up the volume to drown out the sound. A few minutes later, he glanced back at Sam to ask if she wanted some water from the kitchen. His eyes froze on the image behind him. Someone had stolen Sam and replaced her with a knockout in black Lycra shorts, sporting rock solid abs and breasts attempting to escape the skimpy jog bra. Where did those breasts come from? Sam didn’t have breasts, did she? She’d always dressed in baggy sweatshirts, sweaters, or those hideo
us boxy suits she wore to work.

  When she smiled at him, he noticed a dot of chocolate he’d missed at the corner of her mouth. Damn, he was hungry. Heat shot straight to his groin, creating an unwelcome inferno.

  “Sweet.” She punched the air in front of her as her body continued to move on the treadmill like a swimsuit model, curves and muscles and everything good about the female form.

  She pointed at the television.

  The game? “What happened?”

  “First down, Houston.”

  He turned his head in time to see the replay. Right. First down. Rodney completed the pass. Nice. The screen flashed to Rodney downing a sports drink by the bench. Maybe Sam needed a drink too. He turned back around to offer her water again. She continued jogging and her breasts continued to move hypnotically and the chocolate remained on her lips. He couldn’t remember what he needed to ask her.

  “Jason?”

  “Huh?”

  “The game is that way.” She directed him back to the television.

  “Right.” Forcing his head to face the screen, he tried to rid himself of Sam’s sensual image. Sam was the girl next door. His best friend. Sanctuary. Sanctuary did not have perfect breasts and long legs that could easily fit around him.

  She cheered again, and he refocused on the game. Touchdown. Right. How long would she be running? He’d miss the whole game if she stayed on the treadmill for much longer.

  After he missed two interceptions, another touchdown, and a field goal, she finally stopped the damn machine.

  “I’ll be back by the end of halftime. I need a quick shower. Do you want anything before I go upstairs?”

  “Nope. Take your time.” He had to be overtired. Sam was not an object to lust over.

  While she was gone, he cleaned up the coffee cups and placed the donuts in the kitchen. It was only eleven o’clock, but he needed a beer. He also needed something to rid his mind of Sexy Sam. After emptying her dishwasher and wiping down the counters and the kitchen table, he took the trash outside.

  When he returned to the couch, she’d morphed back into the Sam he’d grown up with, wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. The chocolate and her breasts had disappeared, but he now knew her shapeless sweatshirt hid something amazing. Her feet, however, were on display. He’d never noticed them before. Tiny feet with red nail polish.