Women like her, and Brandon had known a few, just exuded the stuff like heat from a flame. Or a bonfire, in her case. The way she walked. The way she tilted her head and exposed the creamy column of her neck. The way she was constantly sucking her full bottom lip between her teeth.
Yeah, Stella was a powerhouse. Perhaps he’d always known that about her since she’d shown up in town about two years ago. Since first bumping into her, literally, he’d known there was something different about those see-through-you blue eyes. She’d accused him of cutting in front of her in line at a hot dog stand at the Fourth of July fair. He may or may not have spotted her standing there, looking out of place and gorgeous in her red spaghetti strap tank and white skirt. He may or may not have casually inserted himself into the line right in front of her just to get her attention. And Stella wasn’t the type of person to let something like that slide. No, she’d certainly voiced her disdain for “line jumpers,” as she’d called him.
He’d turned to apologize, barely hiding the grin on his face, when Beverly Rowley of the Beehive Mafia had beat him to the punch. “Brandon West, you get that gorgeous tushy of yours to the back of the line like everybody else,” she’d called from three people back. “Lois has her camera and she’s not afraid to use it.”
Stella had coughed into her hand, he suspected to hide a chuckle. So he’d dipped his head toward her in apology and excused himself. Not that he’d been sorry. He’d stepped in front of her just in time to get an impression of soft, plump breasts when she’d bumped into him.
Yeah, Brandon thought as he turned onto his street, Stella Davenport really was something else.
Beautiful.
Smart.
Funny.
And closely guarding some very private secrets. If anyone recognized inner turmoil, it was Brandon because he’d gone through his own for a very long time. His parents’ deaths when he was six years old, followed by Trish’s departure, then divorce.
He also recognized the anxiety all over her face when he got too close to her. Only her issue was more than just anxiety. She didn’t want him to know, of that much he was sure. Because Stella was a proud woman and wouldn’t want anyone to know she had weaknesses. His house came into view and he stuffed back a groan at the sight of the familiar bright yellow Jeep Wrangler.
He hadn’t been lying the other day when he’d told Stella he liked Adrienne. She was a cute girl who had high goals in life and had good, upstanding parents. His son could do a lot worse when it came to his choice of girlfriend.
No, the problem wasn’t how Brandon felt about Adrienne. The problem was how Matt felt about her. He recognized the dreamy look in the kid’s eyes whenever she was around. Matt had the same worship and borderline obsession that Brandon had had with Trish. And look where that had landed him. Elbow deep in baby shit at the age of eighteen.
Too young to have a clue what to do with a kid. Too young to be married and playing house. He’d thought they could really make a go of it. Become a family and have more kids.
Only Trisha had other plans.
But that wasn’t to say Brandon would change anything. Having Matt was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He’d loved that boy from the second he’d laid eyes on the screaming, red-faced, seven-pound newborn at two-fifteen in the morning. From the second Brandon had gazed down into his son’s beautiful eyes, Matt had been his. Always would be, and it was Brandon’s job to guide Matt, teach him and prepare him for the real world.
Even if that meant protecting him from the same mistakes he’d made at that age.
He parked his truck in the driveway next to Adrienne’s Jeep, hauled his work bag off the passenger seat, and exited the vehicle.
As he made his way up the walk, his cell rang.
Blake’s name flashed across the caller ID.
“What’s up?” he greeted his cousin.
“Hey, can you bring Matt to school thirty minutes early tomorrow? I have some new drills I want to try with him.”
Duke lumbered down the hallway and let out a gruff bark. “Hush,” Brandon told the dog. Duke’s response was to stick his wet nose into Brandon’s Dockers. He moved past the dog and set his bag down. “For just Matt or the whole team?”
“Just Matt,” Blake answered. “I want to work on these with him before practice.”
Duke trotted down the hallway after Brandon, his too-long toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. Damn, he needed to cut those things. “Have you mentioned this to Matt?”
“He actually asked me,” Blake answered.
“He did? He didn’t say anything to me.”
“I told him I’d call you. It would be three days a week for the next month.”
Brandon leaned against the kitchen counter. “Listen…” Shit, he’d never been good with words. “I appreciate the extra time you’ve been giving him.”
“Now don’t get all mushy on me,” Blake answered. “It’s just football.”
Brandon shook his head even though Blake couldn’t see him. “No, it’s more than that for you. Not many coaches would dedicate so many after hours for just one kid.”
“Matt’s not the only one I’m doing it for. But if he were the only one who needed the time, I’d still do it.”
Brandon blew out a breath. “Yeah, you would.” They were both silent for a second. “I’ll bring him earlier in the morning.”
“So,” Blake said after a second. “I heard Stella finally got to you.”
Shit, not him too. Did the three of them have a conspiracy going?
“So I’ll have Matt at the school at six-thirty.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Blake answered with a snicker.
They disconnected the call and Brandon opened a cupboard, pulled out a bag of doggie treats, and tossed one to Duke. The dog caught the thing in the air and swallowed it in one bite.
Matt’s bedroom door was closed, as he suspected it would be, even though Matt knew damn good and well to leave the thing open. He gave Matt’s door a quick knock before cracking the door open.
The kids were on the bed, sprawled across Matt’s rumpled Denver Broncos comforter. One pillow had been kicked to the floor and the other was underneath Matt’s head. The boy was on his back, one arm wound tightly around Adrienne’s shoulders as she snuggled against his side.
A signature postcoital position.
When the two kids spotted him standing there, they jumped apart, scrambling to opposite sides of the bed. Brandon lifted a brow at Matt as Adrienne smoothed her hair down and cleared her throat.
“Hi, Mr. West,” she greeted with a half-smile.
“Hi, Adrienne.” She really was a sweet girl. But, shit, calling him Mr. West made him feel old.
“Hey, Dad,” Matt finally said.
Guilty much?
“Homework done?” he asked the kid.
“Uh, yeah. We did that already.”
And what else did you do?
The question was almost out of his mouth, but he kept himself in check. After all, there was no reason to embarrass the kids. They were embarrassed enough, if the pink glow in Adrienne’s cheeks was anything to go by.
You don’t know they were doing anything. Nothing wrong with a little snuggling.
The argument popped in his head, reminding him that not all kids were how he and Trisha had been.