Tough to Love: Saving Avery (2 page)

Fuck
. I gathered the cash in a pile and pulled it into a big, fat wad. Shoving it in my jean pocket, it bulged. Fuck, five hundred freaking dollars. What does he want? I’d just hold it until he came back - if he came back. I’d give it back or pay for his beers until the debt was repaid. You can’t just throw money at someone like that and not expect something in return. What did he want from me?

My pulse jumped, and as much as I worried what he wanted in return, I knew that I wanted him to come back, if just to see him again. He had a raw power, like something that said he’d protect those around him, risking it all and putting himself in jeopardy, and a tiny piece of me liked that feeling as much as I hated to admit it. Was I fawning over him, no
, I don’t think so; I was merely admitting that he was an attractive man.

One of my regulars came in not minutes later, “Was that Steel Brickman?” He seemed confused, almost in awe. “I swear to God it looked just like him.”

“Who’s Steel Brickman,” I asked, turning to Harry.

“Only the biggest name in football right now. They snatched him out of college ball before he even graduated. He was a no name playing for the Seattle Sidewinders back at school, some peon school, not even a big one, but a scout found him and grabbed him up. He’s about to start playing for our boys. I think they star
t him next week. He’s all over sports talk radio right now.”

“The
Red Hawks?” 
That explains the cash
.

“Yeah,” he said, his head turned towards the door.

Why wasn’t he hanging at the sports bar down the road? A professional football player would fit right in. He probably had a huge ego, being pulled out of college, a no name that went pro. I didn’t follow football, and except for the rare game that was splashed on the television time to time here, I rarely paid attention.

He didn’t come back, not for a while. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take an interest in his background. I did some searching on the web to pull up his story. Nearing graduation in his senior year back in Seattle, his name was all the rage locally, but not playing in the bigger leagues he wasn’t getting the same exposure. The agent’s brother lived in town, and kept telling him about this kid. It took a couple of visits before he snapped him up – offering him the big life on the east coast if he’d sign on. He took a massive sign on bonus, and was locked in tight as the Red Hawk’s back-up quarterback. According to the article, they thought he’d become a driving force in the team’s future, a name that would be a household name and would be worth the money spent up front.

Without him looking back at me, I could study the picture of his face. He had a strong jawline, a masculine face, and short jet black hair. At almost twenty-two, he looked older than his age. His expression had the look of time, and not that of some farm fresh kid plucked out of school.

I’m guessing his twenty-two years hadn’t been easy based on the stories I dug up, but nothing too extreme. It’s like an explosion of stories of his past were being passed around after he won the contract he wasn’t even trying for. I’m guessing the guest appearances on news shows wouldn’t be far behind.

Closing my browser, I stood up and watched it flicker. I was lucky the piece of shit laptop was still working. It was on its last leg, and I desperately needed it to hold out – at least through my final year in college.

I thought about the money he threw on the bar top. It would easily pick me up something used, but I couldn’t bring myself to spend it. I hadn’t earned it, and was like god damned hand out. So he made money, it was his money, not mine.

I was drawn back, pulling the photos of him up again. There was something in me that wanted to study his face, get to know each line, and stare into his dark eyes without him staring back.
It startled me when I realize I wanted to feel his hot breath on me, breathing ragged, sweaty, and worn.

I don’t think about those things, at least haven’t in way too long, but the wicked thought cre
pt into my brain. Fine, I admit it, he’s handsome with a raw intensity, but that’s all it is. I’m having my own version of foreplay in my head, and it’s the closest I’ve been to sex in ages. I shut the thoughts down and paced instead. I need to get out of here.

I lace up some shoes and go for a run. I don’t want to think anymore, and certainly not about some guy. Guys don’t fit into my plans, not anymore. They aren’t worth it – they’re all pieces of lying shit, and he’d be the same once I got to know him.

Beads of sweat roll down my face as I hit my fourth mile. I went faster, harder, trying to push everything out of my head. It’s the only way I know to make the thoughts go away, any thoughts. The stress slowly drains from me, and when I stop my mind is clear once again – the way that I like it.

I have a paper I’ve been putting off, and know if I don’t tackle it today it won’t get done. I’m more than ready for the semester to be over, but I still had a few more weeks to get through. Thankfully between work and school, I didn’t have a lot of free time. I didn’t want free time – it left me open to think about life, and right now life had shit on me. We weren’t exactly buddies.

I pulled up the bulleted outline with notes from class, but my brain wouldn’t lock onto my work. Instead it drifted to the football player, the stranger from the bar, the picture from the web, and the warm feelings I was sensing between my legs.

“No,” I grunted out loud, and focused back on my notes. I would not let some guy weasel his way into my mind like this. They’re all assh
oles, every last one of them – including my dead beat dad, my excuse for a step-father and the step-brother that I hate.

Digging in, I tackled the essay and wrapped it by night’s end. I’d put it off as long as I could, relieved I’d finally finished.

Tearing into a pack of cheese crackers, I realized I had little food left in my tiny room, and would have to hit the market for a few things tomorrow. I could do it between classes and work, but I only had a short pocket of time. With a tiny mini-fridge and one cabinet to store groceries, I rarely kept much food on hand anyway. Besides, I had more than my fair share of pretzels downstairs at the bar. They filled me up and were cheap, so I could save what little money I had for more important things like rent.

Crawling onto my mattress, which was basically a box spring and mattress tossed on the floor and shoved into the corner, I pulled a blanket up over my head. Martha Stewart would be less
than impressed with my cheap sheets from the thrift store. They’d never win any luxury thread count awards, but they were practically free.

I thought about the football player again, wondering if he’d be back. Drifting off to sleep, I was w
oken with a start. Somebody was banging hard on my door. I pretended not to hear, and eventually they wondered down the hall and found their way. The floor consisted of five rooms; all rented out like some damn dorm. The worst part was sharing the bathroom with the others. These were not the sort of folk my mom would be inviting home for dinner anytime soon. Most were drunks or strung out on some drug, and looking for a cheap place to call home. People pissed all over the toilet seat, and I took to holding it in as long as I could and using every other bathroom I could find during my day. That place was nasty, but it was all I had currently. One day I’d afford a nicer place, maybe a studio with my own bathroom, but for now it had to make do.

I crept into the shower in the wee hours of the morning, when most of the other tenants were out cold. Barricading the door the best I was able, I quickly washed and headed back to my room. I longed for the days of a clean bathroom, and long, hot showers. This was still better than living under the same roof as my step-brother.
Fuck him – I could deal with crappy bathrooms if I had to
.

The bar
was painted barn red, though the white on the sign was worn and held shades of dirt and smudge. It sat wedged at a fork in the road. The place hasn’t had a new coat of paint in ages, and looks tired. Named after its owner, Phil’s isn’t exactly listed as a place to visit when you come to town. It had seen better days – about twenty years ago.

Hops and Scotch is bigger and has better food, and
The First Down pulls in the sports crowd. We get the others, the ones who don’t want to be noticed, the ones who are tired of life, and the people who aren’t here to socialize – only wanting to drown their lives in the cold brew. At least the beer is cold, we do that right.

When he came back into the bar, I wasn’t expecting him. “Your name,” he asked and then ordered a longneck.

“Avery,” I answered, sizing him up. I flushed, worried he’d realize I looked him up and knew who he was now. Should I play dumb?

“Yours?” I pretended not to know.

“Steel.”

“Interesting name,” I commented, pretending it was new to me.

“My mom gave it to me. She taught me more about strength than anybody ever could.”

“Was,” I realized the past tense.

“Accident, I lost her two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, it happens.”

“Do you miss her?”
What kind of stupid ass question was that? Of course he misses her
. Weren’t you listening to his tone earlier? I wondered if I’d miss my mom – I didn’t talk to her much, but I didn’t want her gone.

“Yeah, a lot.”

I didn’t have anything left to say. I didn’t want to stare, but after having taken the time to look at his pictures so closely, I realized just how handsome he was. I finally asked, “Why Phil’s?”

“Why not?”

I shrugged. Good enough. He’d fit right in at Hops and Scotch, and they’d love him, hell probably toast him and put him on a pedestal over at The First Down. At Phil’s he was nobody, a no name, just another face that blended into the paneling. I didn’t realize he liked it that way.

“You want to get something to eat later?”

“What?” It’s not that I couldn’t understand the words he said, it’s that they weren’t registering. Not the way they were supposed to.

“Food, do you want to go eat later.”

“I don’t think so, but thanks.”

“Have it your way,” he grunted, but he wasn’t used to being turned down. His good looks had landed him plenty of pussy in his day, but something drew him back to the angry girl behind the bar.

I’m not sure why I turned him down. I think I was afraid to be alone with him. I was feeling stirrings inside and that frightened me. I hadn’t felt anything in over a year, hadn’t wanted to, and yet as Steel Brickman sat before me, my body was coming back to life.

He asked me four more times before I finally said yes. I didn’t know why he kept asking. What did he see in me, what was it that brought him back? It’s not like he couldn’t get any piece of ass he wanted – and I was certainly not the thing that dreams were made of, but something kept bringing him back.

I finally admitted to knowing who he was, but not to staring at his picture on the web for longer than I should have. The more he showed up, the more I was drawn to him. His dark eyes hungrily owned my body from a safe distance, but he never said what he was thinking. I went from not liking his stare to craving it. I think I liked the attention, something I wasn’t used to liking. I’d be so closed down this past year, not wanting people to look at me, that it flustered me when I realized I wanted his eyes on me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him when he wasn’t looking. If he caught me, I’d turn away, pretending like it wasn’t real.

After my shift, I followed him outside. On seeing his bike I hesitated. I’d never ridden on one, and I’d have to sit close, too close. Climbing on, he waited for me to join him. I stood looking, perplexed, almost afraid to press my body to him. I’d have to cling to him, my thighs parted and pressed against him, and right now I didn’t trust myself.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I started to back out.

“Get on,” was all he said, his tone firm and in charge.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted my leg over the seat and slid into place. Pressing my breasts to his back, I was grateful his leather jacket act
ed as a barrier between us. Leaning in, his cologne filled my nostrils. I inhaled, realizing how close we were for me to be able to take his scent in. Steel’s aroma filled me, and I wanted to breathe him in even deeper. My loins ached, and as he revved up the bike the vibration of the seat didn’t help matters.

Holding fast, I pulled my legs up tight
against him. Backing out of our spot, I realized there was no changing my mind.

I barely breathed as we rode down the street. It felt like we were flying, but I knew we weren’t – the speed limit was only thirty-five. Once we hit the highway we’d flash like lightning.

As our speed crept up, I clung tighter, my arms wrapped around a solid wall of muscle. Fearing the worst, I refused to loosen my grip.

Steel pulled into an
all-night diner, parking off to the side. It took me a few minutes to let go of him. Finally peeling my hands away, I warily stood. I was shaking from the ride. It was exhilarating and scary at the same time.

He simply laughed
, “First time?”