Blindsided Read online

  “What would girls’ night out be like without Emma on her pedestal glaring down at the rest of us?” Bella pointed out and erupted in a series of drunken giggles.

  “I’m not glaring. You’re all very entertaining,” Emma fibbed, cringing at how self-righteous she sounded. She forced a smile, tired of being the uptight, straight-laced one of the bunch, but no one was paying attention. Instead every head turned to look at something behind Emma. Emma twisted in her seat to see who caught their attention, knowing it had to be a hot guy.

  Emma’s breath caught in her throat as Tanner Wolfe, complete with his usual wingmen, strutted into the bar as if he owned the place. Not only was Tanner as hot as they came, but his cohorts weren’t slouches either. As a huge closet Steelheads fan, Emma knew Tanner’s buddies on sight—Hunter McCoy, a six-foot-five tight end, along with Grady Powers and Cameron Swift, the team’s two best wide receivers. The other men might be hot, but Tanner held Emma’s attention.

  Last year, Izzy had become good friends with Tanner, and he hung out often with the sisters, giving Emma even more fodder for her late-night fantasies. She’d barely spoken more than a handful of words to the man, but a girl could dream.

  Tanner’s air of authority and supreme confidence struck her every time she saw him. She wished she could be that bold, that invincible. Tonight he wore a blue and gray Steelheads T-shirt, tight enough to reveal his muscular chest and ripped midsection. Emma swallowed and cleared her throat. His thick, unruly sun-streaked dark blond hair needed a good cut, but he looked damn sexy with his messy, devil-may-care style. He had a tattoo on his left forearm which covered his entire upper arm, an intricate swirling mass of vines and leaves intertwined with names and quotes or something. Emma longed to read each one of them and ask him what significance they had. Then she wanted to lick them and every other part of his shredded masculine body.

  Bella had said he had tattoos elsewhere, and Emma could only imagine—oh, boy, could she imagine. Bella would know; she’d slept with Tanner a few times. If only Emma could be Bella for a few hours, throw out all inhibitions, and sleep with a hot guy like Tanner then never look back. But Emma wasn’t Bella. No, Emma was more like Avery, who slept with a hot guy she’d only just met and ended up falling in love with him. That hot guy happened to be Tanner’s estranged brother.

  Small world.

  Bella fanned herself. “Now if that fine man doesn’t make my pussy wet.”

  Izzy laughed and almost choked on her wine. “Don’t let Coop hear you say that. He’ll get his boxers in a bunch if you start another affair with Tanner.”

  Bella threw back her head and laughed. “Don’t tempt me. You know I love to jerk Coop’s chain.”

  “You’ll be jerking Isaac’s too. He’s not overly fond of his brother,” said Avery, referring to Tanner’s brother and her now-fiancé Isaac.

  “Sisters, tell me something I don’t know. As hot as Tanner is, neither of us is interested in a repeat. I was referring to Hunter.” Bella’s smile grew as she caught the men’s attention and crooked her index finger. As one, the men did an abrupt change of direction and headed their way.

  “He is oh-so-hot,” Angela, Bella’s best friend, leaned forward and wiped imaginary drool from her face. Angela was more than a little drunk, and she looked ready to pounce. Angela didn’t care what anyone thought, just like Bella.

  Emma ignored them all and tried to control her wildly beating heart as the men got closer. Tanner pulled out a chair between Emma and Angela, flipped it around backward, and straddled it. His buddies followed suit.

  “Evening, ladies.” Tanner tipped an imaginary hat and gifted them with his trademark grin guaranteed to melt panties at fifty paces. Emma’s certainly were melting.

  Tanner directed his grin at Emma. “Hey, Emma,” he said in that soft, seductive voice of his.

  “Hi.” Emma ducked her head, blushing like an idiot. She caught Bella’s knowing look and hoped she’d keep her mouth shut. So far she had.

  Tanner and gang stuck around for a few minutes then excused themselves to play blackjack. Emma sighed as she watched his fine backside disappear into the main casino.

  “You’d like to get him naked, wouldn’t you?” Bella snorted, way too drunk to keep her voice down.

  Emma’s face flamed with embarrassment. Bella wasn’t cruel, but she had a big mouth when she drank.

  “Oh, my God, look at her? One mention of Tanner, and little sister turns all shades of red,” Bella screeched, holding her sides, while tears of mirth ran down her face.

  The gang at the table roared with laughter, drawing curious stares from the patrons in the bar. Emma ducked her head, humiliated and angry.

  Izzy patted her hand. “Seriously, Emms, I love Tanner like a brother, but he’s not a good fit for you.”

  At the word fit, the table roared again.

  Avery squeezed her arm and smiled sloppily at her. “Don’t be upset, Emms, this is all in good fun. We love you.”

  Emma nodded. “I know. No offense taken.” Yeah, then why did she feel like locking herself in the handicapped bathroom stall and crying her eyes out? This wasn’t like her. Or was it? Maybe it was just like her—that buried part of her she kept hidden deep down inside.

  They’d always thought her innocent and couldn’t resist teasing her to make her blush, especially Bella, always the naughtiest of the sisters. She loved to describe her sexcapades, just to see Emma’s face turn redder than a fire truck.

  They’d never guess how she spent her Wednesday nights, and she’d never tell them. Emma Maxwell had a dirty little secret, a secret not even her twin sister knew. Of course, considering Emma’s good girl status, her secret probably wasn’t all that dirty, not compared to most women, but for Emma it was a big deal—her guilty pleasure.

  For the past three months Emma became another person on Wednesday nights—the type of person Emma herself could never truly be.

  Dressing up and singing karaoke at a local casino might not sound like a big deal to most people but to Emma’s sisters it would be a huge betrayal of the pact they’d made years ago. Emma never betrayed anyone; she never went against her family’s expectations.

  Except on Wednesday nights.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Tanner chewed on a fingernail until he glanced up and noticed Carson Reynolds’s middle-aged executive assistant frowning at him as if he were a steaming pile of dog shit. He couldn’t believe she came to work this early.

  Tanner smiled at her, wasting one of his most dazzling smiles on the woman, and she didn’t take so much as a breath. Leave it to Reynolds to hire an assistant who was as big of a tight ass as the man himself. The former team president—and owner’s son—always hired blonde bimbos with boobs bigger than their IQs. But not Carson. The man was all business.

  “You can go in now, Mr. Wolfe,” the woman said, looking too much like the not-so-sexy librarian who shushed him back in high school one too many times.

  Tanner stood, wiped his sweaty palms on his worn, faded jeans, and walked with slow, deliberate steps to the gallows.

  Carson sat behind a large glass-and-steel desk left by his predecessor, the former owner’s dick of a son. He frowned at the computer screen and waved his hand in the air indicating Tanner should have a seat. He didn’t look up.

  Tanner sat down and took advantage of Carson’s obvious inattention to size up the other man. Carson wore a conservative black business suit. His dark hair was perfectly trimmed and styled, in stark contrast to Tanner’s too-long, shaggy blond hair. Tanner dug his fingernails into his palms and forced an unconcerned smile on his face and waited with patience he didn’t feel.

  Carson sat back and looked up. “Sorry, just putting out fires.”

  “I’m guessing this organization has plenty of them,” Tanner quipped.

  Carson didn’t smile. Instead he studied Tanner as if he were a scientist trying to discern why an experiment had gone horribly wrong.

  “Nice to see yo
u again, Carson,” Tanner added, not able to stand the silence. He’d met the businessman multiple times at various charity functions.

  Carson simply nodded and didn’t return the small talk. At that moment the door flew open and slammed against the wall.

  Carson stood so Tanner followed the team president’s lead, as a whirlwind of a man literally ran into the room, buzzing with energy and enthusiasm.

  “Tanner, I don’t believe you’ve met our new head coach, Brandon Miller.”

  Carson knew Miller by reputation. Everyone did. He’d been the offensive coordinator for this year’s Super Bowl winner, his long season being the only reason another team hadn’t snapped him up for their head coach.

  “Nice to meet you, Coach.” The two shook hands, and all three men sat down at the small conference table in Carson’s office. Miller was Carson’s opposite. His Steelheads polo had a coffee stain on it, his red hair stood on end on one side of his head, and he sported scruffy stubble.

  “I’m sorry our new GM couldn’t be here today. He had a previous commitment,” Carson explained in that infuriatingly smooth and unruffled voice of his.

  Before Tanner could respond, Miller jumped in. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. I watched you in college and the last two years with the Steelheads. I don’t believe the previous offensive scheme was a good match for your talents, but mine will be.”

  “What about Hernandez?” Tanner asked, bringing up a sore subject regarding the first-round quarterback drafted by the Fish—as the Seattleites so fondly called their team.

  Miller grinned and rubbed his stubble. “Yes, Hernandez. Well, they did draft him, but I believe in competition, and the best man at the position wins. You have great promise, Wolfe, but you haven’t lived up to it. I’m a firm believer in helping players reach their potential, and you, my boy, have great potential. Our new QB coach can’t wait to work with you.”

  Tanner nodded, feeling as if he’d fallen down a rabbit hole and ended up in some make-believe world where everything was rosy and wonderful and the good guys always won. Except Tanner wasn’t sure he was a good guy.

  “So, Tanner, we,” Carson included the coach in his look, “believe you’re this franchise’s quarterback of the future if you want to be.”

  “Of course I want to be,” Tanner gushed, faking the same level of enthusiasm they displayed, only these two weren’t faking it.

  “Good.” Carson smiled a stiff smile and leaned back in his chair. “As a competitor, I assume you’ll do anything needed to get to the next level. We can promise you’ll be rewarded handsomely before the end of your original contract if you fulfill our expectations.”

  “Uh, yeah, anything.” Tanner could almost hear the trap snapping tight around his big foot.

  “Good. I knew you’d say that.” Miller just kept grinning, while Carson didn’t grin at all.

  Tanner blew out a breath. “Sure, fill me in on what you expect. I’m great at charity work. I visit the Children’s Hospital and the VA Hospital almost every week.”

  Carson and Miller exchanged glances.

  “Actually, it’s more complicated than that. All of our owners are Seattle natives. We’re family oriented, every one of us. We can’t have an X-rated face of the franchise.”

  “Oh.” Tanner couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

  “In addition to cleaning up your on-field performance, you need to turn around your off-field reputation. We want a good guy, a family man who goes home to the same woman every night, who isn’t seen at the hot spots with barely clad women on his arm.”

  “Sure, I—I can do that. I can tone it down a bit. I just want to play football. That’s my priority.”

  Both men stared at him as if he were full of shit.

  “Seriously. It is. I’ve matured. I’m not that young party guy I was my rookie season.”

  Carson cleared his throat, looked down at his iPad, swiped a couple times, and handed it to Tanner. Tanner blanched.

  “When was this taken?” Carson asked, as if he didn’t know.

  “Uh, uh, last weekend,” Tanner admitted, barely glancing at the picture taken in a back hallway of a Seattle nightclub. It was beyond compromising. He had an unknown woman backed against the wall. She had her legs wrapped around his waist. Her short skirt had ridden upward to expose her hips, thighs, and ass. Her breasts spilled out of her top. Tanner was fucking her for all he was worth with his head thrown back. The photographer had caught him in that moment before he came.

  “Did you even know her name?” Carson asked with obvious judgment in his voice.

  “No,” Tanner admitted.

  Carson looked pissed and even Coach lost his Pollyanna smile. “Do you know what it cost the organization to keep these photos and the corresponding video from being plastered all over the Internet?”

  “No, sir, I don’t, sir. It was poor judgment on my part.”

  “Along with the tequila you consumed and the Jell-O shots you sucked out of another woman’s cleavage?”

  “Yeah.” Tanner fidgeted and stared at his hands, feeling contrite and stupid.

  “This will not happen again. If it does, we’ll cut you. No excuses. No second chance. Do I make myself clear?” Carson’s steely voice left zero doubt as to his intent.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Carson stood, effectively dismissing him. “I’ll be delivering our expectations in writing to your agent this afternoon.”

  Tanner fled to the door, anxious to leave.

  “And Tanner?”

  Tanner froze with his hand on the doorknob. “Uh, yeah?”

  “My advice to you is find a nice girl and become a homebody.”

  Tanner didn’t respond because being a homebody with a nice girl was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d rather be celibate for the rest of his career than be saddled with one woman.

  As he beat cleats out of there, Tanner cast one of his patented, panty-melting grins at Carson’s assistant. She glared at him, her panties fully intact and dry as a bone, no doubt.

  Sketching a salute in her direction, Tanner strode to the elevator. As soon as the doors snapped shut, he ran his hands over his face and wondered how the hell he’d clean up his act. His football career depended on it, and without football, Tanner had nothing.

  Chapter 2—Flushed out of the Pocket

  Tanner grinned at the hottie nuzzling his neck and tipped his head back to guzzle another beer. He ignored the worried frowns on his buddies’ faces, knowing exactly what they were thinking. Hey, he was playing it cool, trying to stay out of trouble.

  Somewhat.

  Before Tanner could take their mutual attraction to the back seat of his car, the redhead’s senior-citizen boyfriend toddled into the bar to claim her. With a disappointed frown, the nameless woman stood to follow the older man to the blackjack tables. She tossed a wistful glance over her bare shoulder, and Tanner winked at her, unconcerned. There’d be another to take her place, so he shrugged it off, even though he was slightly irritated she’d neglected to mention she’d come with someone. Tanner didn’t have many scruples, but he did his best to avoid women with attachments, vindictive ex-boyfriends, and excessive drama, unless the female happened to be a celebrity.

  Tanner couldn’t deny it. He was an attention slut. Living in Seattle lowered his visibility on the national scene. The rest of the country often forgot Seattle existed, and his team’s losing streak buried him even further into obscurity. The last thing Tanner wanted to be was obscure, forgotten, yesterday’s news. Dating a starlet or pop singer thrust him into the national spotlight, right where he craved being—and right where the team didn’t want him to be.

  His last relationship with a reality star had netted him some good endorsement deals until it went south after the usual three months—his personal limit for how long he could hold it together before nosy females got too close, and he cut them off or behaved badly enough, they dumped him.

  That had been his MO, and it suited him
, or it had in the past. But the past was just that, past. This, unfortunately, was a whole new ballgame, and Carson Reynolds had put him on notice. For two weeks, Tanner had behaved, flying under the radar until he’d had all he could take of hanging out at home with the guys. Not to mention his healthy sex drive was driving him to find a willing body for the night.

  Instead of going to his usual trendy, downtown Seattle nightclub, Tanner found himself sitting in a casino bar on karaoke night, not exactly his preferred bottle of booze, but it’d have to do until the Steelheads management backed off.

  Tanner poured another beer from the pitcher on the table, wishing it were whiskey instead, one of the many concessions he’d made for the good of the team—and his career.

  “Thank God,” Hunter said, as the current singer finished his song and left the stage to a smattering of applause from the singer’s drunken friends. Tanner could never be drunk enough to think that guy could carry a tune.

  “Whose idiot idea was it for us to come to the casino on karaoke night?” Tanner groused. He’d already lost too much money playing a couple rounds of blackjack so gambling was out but so was calling it a night. Tanner didn’t want to go home either.

  “Yours,” Hunter, Cam, and Grady answered at the same time.

  “Oh,” Tanner sighed and studied the bar menu, suddenly hungry.

  “Hey,” Grady tugged on his sleeve and pointed with his finger, “isn’t that your brother’s fiancée?”

  Tanner snapped his head around so fast he almost got whiplash. The lady in question stood on a dark stage under a spotlight, a microphone grasped in her hand. Rubbing the back of his neck, Tanner squinted into the lights of the small stage.

  “Holy fuck,” he said under his breath. His dick hardened in record time. The woman in question wore a tight pink top showing a liberal amount of tasty cleavage and a swishy, mid-thigh skirt. Her honey blond hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back. A very nice back and even nicer ass, he noted, as she bent down to pick up the mic. She wasn’t tall, but she was just his size with those long, long legs which stretched to heaven and back.