Rough & Ready Page 5

  That hasn’t happened in…I’m not sure it’s ever happened, now that I think about it. Certainly not since I started playing high school ball. Usually I’m the one fending them off.

  Her pointed dismissal should piss me off—after all, I’ve done nothing but try to be nice here, even when she was screaming at me. Instead, it just confuses me.

  Intrigues me.

  And makes me more determined than ever to get her attention…and keep it.

  Chapter 5

  Elara

  “Seriously, Elara?” Josie hisses at me as I head back across the court—not because I have anything to do over here, but because there’s no way I’m playing handmaiden for Tanner “Steal Rebound’s Money” Green. No freaking way.

  “Am I supposed to know what you’re referring to?” I ask, sparing her a glance as I start a totally unnecessary inventory of the equipment in the sports basket just to look busy.

  “It was just twenty minutes ago that we were talking about how you needed a man, and Tanner Sex God Green just fell in your lap! How could you be so rude to him?”

  “There’s so much wrong with those two sentences that I don’t even know where to start.” I count up the number of footballs, mark them on the inventory sheet.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t need a man.”

  “I don’t. But that’s not what I was going to say.” I move on to tennis rackets. “I was going to say that fifteen-year-old girls shouldn’t be referring to grown men as sex gods.”

  I give her a pointed look, but she just groans and motions for me to continue, like she knows I’ve got more to say. Which I do. I lose the preachy attitude and speak my truth to her as best I can. “When you guys are here, you’re my responsibility. I take that seriously, Josie. Which means strange men don’t just get to wander in here off the street and hang with my kids.”

  “He’s Tanner Green. He’s like the exact opposite of a strange man.”

  “Why? Because he plays football?” I mark down the rackets on the list, then move on to the tennis balls—which, I’m the first to admit, is a bit much. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but pro ballers are pretty much the definition of the big bad wolf.”

  Been there, done that, totally don’t want the T-shirt.

  And that’s without even getting into all the reasons I have to be holding a grudge against the man. I can’t believe he has the nerve to just show up here, thinking I’ll bow down to his almighty checkbook now that he’s pretending to see the light. So not going to happen.

  The jerk.

  “Weren’t you a pro baller?” she retorts, all fifteen-year-old sass.

  “I was. Which is why I know exactly what I’m talking about here.”

  “But this is Tanner Green. Everyone knows he’s a saint as well as one of the sexiest guys on the planet.”

  Saints don’t look like Tanner Green and they sure as hell don’t sound like him. I may still be furious with him, but I’m not blind. Even I can see that everything about the man screams sin, in the most appealing way. The broad shoulders, the crazy muscles covered by miles of milk chocolate skin, the piercing green eyes, the dreads.

  It’s like every part of him is tailor made to hit me in the feels, but I don’t tell Josie that. The last thing she needs is any encouragement from me. Instead, I tell her the other side of the coin, which is, “You can’t always believe what you read, kid. PR has a lot to do with how you view celebrities, and very little of it is actually truth.”

  She rolls her eyes so hard I’m not sure they’re ever going to come down. But just as she starts to answer, the sound level behind us gets a lot louder—which can only mean that Tanner has returned to the little people. Aren’t we lucky?

  I steadfastly refuse to turn around. Now that he’s been checked in and his license has been run to make sure there are no problems, if he wants to stand on the court and sign autographs for the next hour, who am I to stop him? It’s not the five hundred thousand dollars I was hoping for from Jack Reilly, but at least it’ll give the kids a huge thrill and that’s worth a lot.

  I just need to swallow my bitterness and make sure someone’s out here with them when Mark shows up for our not date. Letting some baller near my kids with proper precautions is one thing. Letting him near my kids unsupervised is something else entirely.

  I’m a big believer that you can never be too careful when you’re charged with kids’ safety. Especially my kids, so many of whom have already seen or suffered a lot more than they should ever have to.

  A glance over my shoulder shows that Tanner is, indeed, signing autographs and taking selfies. And that more kids are pouring through the center’s front gate now that word has gotten out that he’s here.

  Fantastic. If this keeps up, this place is going to be a total madhouse—and not just with neighborhood teens.

  That thought has me thinking about canceling my outing—I can’t just walk away from this place if the whole world is descending—and also putting some kind of security on the front gate. Linc should be in by now—he’s teaching self-defense classes all afternoon, but he usually shows up early to hang with the kids. If I can get him on the gate, I’ll feel a lot better about this whole Tanner Green mess.

  I reach for my phone to text him when I see his bright red Mohawk weaving through the crowd toward the sidewalk. Looks like great minds think alike…

  Still, I make my way over to meet him, just to check in.

  “Hey, Linc. Thanks for this,” I tell him as I finally reach him. “I appreciate it.”

  He just grins that easygoing smile of his. “No problem, Elara. My first class doesn’t start ’til two, so I can hang here until then.”

  “I’m pretty sure Tanner won’t last that long. He’s—” Another cheer goes up from the crowd, this one loud enough to rattle the rec center’s windows and my brain, all at the same time.

  I turn around to see what’s happening now, and catch Tanner stripping off his shirt as he walks toward the basketball court. And for a second I forget how to breathe.

  Because, yeah, I’ve been around a lot of ballers in my life—basketball and football. Have seen a lot of really gorgeous men and really gorgeous bodies. And still, Tanner Green is something special. Something breathtaking and drool inducing, all at the same time.

  He’s left tackle, which means he’s huge—six foot six, three hundred pounds. But where a bunch of left tackles tend to carry extra weight around their middle, Tanner’s poundage is all muscle. Lots and lots and lots of muscle…in all the right places.

  Usually I’m bigger than a lot of the men I meet—not just my height, which is a lot, but the amount of muscle that I carry as well. I played center for most of my life and the training regimen is an old habit I haven’t even tried to break. But Tanner makes me look small.

  His biceps are huge, his chest massive, and he’s definitely rocking a six-pack—complete with happy trail that disappears into the low-slung waistband of his athletic shorts. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t suddenly have the urge to lick my way down all that rich, dark skin straight to his happy place.

  And that pretty much never happens to me. But it’s hard to think about anything else when confronted with all…this. God, how angry was I the other day that I failed to appreciate all this when he was wet and dripping and covered in nothing but a bath towel?

  I try to be subtle about gawking at him—how can I teach my boys that they have no business ogling or catcalling some girl on the street if I can’t even keep my hormones under control in my place of business—but as I jerk my eyes up to Tanner’s face, I know it’s too late. The amused look in his crazy beautiful green eyes tells me I’ve been caught.

  I should apologize or, barring that, should run straight inside the center now that Linc’s out here. I could pretend that Tanner was never here, let alone t
hat I just spent a good three minutes lusting after his beautiful, beautiful body.

  I could do that, but I won’t. Not when he’s looking at me with that ridiculous smirk on his face. And not when those eyes of his are all but daring me to run. Fuck that.

  “You know this isn’t a locker room, right, Green?” I call as I saunter across the court to him. “Clothes aren’t actually optional here.”

  “Tanner said he’d play ball with us,” Miguel says, and he’s nearly jumping out of his skin with excitement.

  “Did he now?” I lift my brows at him for confirmation. “You know there’s no football field here, right?”

  “I am aware,” he answers with a smirk. “But I’m willing to give the basketball court a try.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My look calls him a candy ass even if I manage to keep my mouth from doing the same. “You think you can jump?”

  “I think I don’t have to.” He glances around, as if to say no one here is going to be able to stop him.

  And I know he’s playing with me, know he’s goading me, and still I can’t stop myself from falling into it. “You might be surprised.” I kick off the shoes I’ve barely put back on.

  His eyebrows go up. “So that’s how it is, huh?”

  I nod. “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely how it is.”

  A whoop goes up from the kids close enough to hear, along with the buzz of excited chatter. I don’t catch it all, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re talking about. My best estimate puts it at thirty seconds before the whole crowd knows I just challenged one of San Diego’s most beloved ballers.

  “What are the teams?” he asks.

  I don’t have much time, fifteen minutes at the most before Mark shows up, so I go small. “Two on two. First one to twenty points wins.”

  Tanner nods, then holds a fist out to Miguel. “You with me, little man?”

  Miguel can’t contain his happy dance. “Damn straight!”

  Tanner’s brows draw together at the expletive, but he doesn’t say anything. Which I’m glad for. Miguel spends so much time hiding in his shell that I’d hate to see him get shot down by a man who is obviously one of his heroes the first time he sticks his head out of it.

  “Really, selling me out like that, Miguel?” I ask so he’ll feel wanted.

  He flushes. “Sorry, E.”

  I wink at him to let him know I’m just messing around.

  “So, who’s playing with you?” Tanner asks.

  Josie’s the best ball player in the center, but she’s also one of the most popular girls in the neighborhood. Marlow, on the other hand, spends most of her life in the background. I raise a brow at her, to check if it’s okay before I say anything.

  When it registers what I’m asking, she looks shell-shocked. But she nods, which is all I need to see.

  “Marlow.”

  The crowd grumbles a little, but a quick look from me shuts that shit down quick. When Marlow moves up to join me, Tanner grins. “A little battle of the sexes, huh? I like it.”

  “More like a war,” Marlow comments drily.

  Miguel nods. “Elara comes to play.” He sounds so earnest that I want to hug him.

  “I can see that,” Tanner says, his green eyes smoldering just a little.

  The look gets to me despite my defenses…and I’m not the only one. I can practically hear the panties dropping on every straight female and gay male in the crowd over the age of thirteen.

  Which, okay. Tanner’s superhot. And superconfident. But so are a lot of athletes. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to smoke his ass on the court. Especially since he’s all but begging for it with his who’s-going-to-stop-me attitude.

  “Who’s doing the tip-off for you guys?” Marlow asks.

  It’s obvious by the way he puts a hand on Miguel’s shoulders that Tanner’s going to nominate the kid, and normally I’m all about that. But there’s a little devil sitting on my shoulder right now and I can’t help goading him. Any more than I can help the excitement that courses through me at the idea of going up against him.

  “I think you should do it,” I tell him.

  “Me?” He looks at me like I’m crazy and that only increases my determination to put him in his place.

  “Yeah, you. And me.” I add the last, just in case he can’t figure it out on his own.

  It’s obvious he’s got something to say, but in the end he doesn’t tell me no. Instead, he just inclines his head and gestures for me to precede him to the center of the court.

  A huge cheer goes up as the kids around us figure out what’s going on, and Tanner takes advantage of the noise to lean in and ask, “You sure about this?”

  “What’s the matter?” I taunt. “You scared?”

  “Shouldn’t I be?” he answers with a smirk that somehow makes that ridiculous face of his even more attractive. Or it would, if I liked smirking men. Which I don’t. And I definitely don’t like athletes.

  At this point, I figure the reminder couldn’t hurt.

  Josie’s sulking a little, but even so, she makes her way to center court to referee the tip-off. The look she gives me tells me to throw the game—I’m sure she’d love a couple of minutes to lecture me on the fact that men like women who let them win—but that’s not how I roll. And that’s definitely not the example I want to show my girls.

  If Tanner and Miguel beat Marlow and me, it will be because they fought harder. And that is not going to happen…

  Tanner and I line up across from each other in the center circle, nose to chin. And I’m not going to lie—it’s nice to be standing next to a man I don’t have to look down on.

  When I played for the WNBA, it wasn’t that uncommon since we hung with pro ballers, but that was a while ago. These days, most of the men I run into hit me right about where I hit Tanner.

  Not that the novelty—or the niceness—of that is going to keep me from kicking his ass. That smirk needs to go and I am just the woman to wipe it off his face.

  “Don’t worry,” he says as Josie prepares to throw the ball up. “I’ll take it easy on you guys.”

  And just like that, any attraction I have to him evaporates.

  “Yeah, you do that,” I answer as the ball goes up.

  Right before I vertical jump twenty-six inches straight off the ground, my bad knee be damned.

  Chapter 6

  Tanner

  Holy shit.

  Holy fucking shit.

  Holy shit.

  This woman can jump.

  It’s all I can think as Elara all but flies off the ground, reaching so high that her palm slaps against the ball and sends it rocketing across the court to Marlow before I can even get on my toes. I’m still in shock as I whirl around just in time to see Marlow catch the ball and take off dribbling down the court.

  Miguel throws himself in her way—the kid is quick—and tries to steal the ball. But she pivots at the last second and throws the ball behind her to Elara who grabs it out of the air, powers down the court and does another one of those crazy jumps as she slams the ball straight down into the hoop.

  And they say women can’t dunk.

  Holy. Shit.

  I stare at her for a second, mouth wide open, until Miguel—who’s just snagged the rebound—yells, “Tanner, come on!”

  The kid is looking at me like I’m an idiot, and I don’t blame him. I was impressed by Elara’s moves when I saw her play earlier, but it’s obvious now she was holding back for the kids. She’s not holding back now and I’m going to have to hustle if I want to keep up.

  It’s that thought that has me springing into action—well, that and the fact that Miguel looks like his hero worship is dying a swift and powerful death. And while I’m okay with not being worshipped, I’m not okay with making an ass of myself in an athletic event.


  I haul ass toward our basket, getting there just in time to catch a pass from Miguel. I aim and shoot. But Elara hip checks me just as I let the ball go and it slams against the side of the rim instead of swooshing in.

  Now I really am in shock. Partly because I’d planned on taking it easy on the girls—an obvious mistake as Elara is definitely not taking it easy on me—and partly because she actually moved me with that hip check. I’m not left tackle for the San Diego Lightning for nothing. I can stand my ground against the strongest, toughest guys in the league, so how did this woman that I outweigh by at least a hundred pounds just knock me sideways?

  I don’t have time to contemplate an answer to that question, because Elara’s got the ball again and she’s running down the court. Seconds later, it swooshes into the net in a perfect three-pointer and just like that, Miguel and I are five points down.

  The crowd is screaming, Miguel looks vaguely murderous and I’m one small step away from making a total ass of myself. Which…no. I don’t mind losing to a woman—at least not any more than I mind losing to a man—but going down without a fight?

  That’s not going to happen.

  Miguel rebounds the ball—the kid has obviously given up on me and I don’t blame him—but it’s time for the two of us to get back into this game. I jog toward him, motioning for him to throw me the ball.

  He looks suspicious as all get out by this point, but he throws it to me—while making a face that tells me this is my last shot with him. I snatch it out of the air, put my shoulders down like I’m trying to stop the biggest tackle in the league, and power down the court.

  Elara plants herself firmly in my way—butt low, feet apart—and just like that, I’ve got two choices. Go through her or try to move around her. And while she’s proven that she’s more than a worthy adversary, there’s no way I’m plowing into a woman and sending her flying across the court.

  I barrel forward, straight at her, expecting her to move out of the way any second. Instead, she just crouches down a little more and braces for impact. Brave? Yes. Stupid? Fuck, yeah.