Risky Game (6 page)

Mama’s only option to make the balloon payment due at the beginning of the year was to refinance, but she needed more income to qualify. Shay’s income. Courtesy of a “friend” of her meddling paternal grandmother, Meemaw, a well-paying government job awaited her—provided she received her degree in December, as planned. No one ever asked if it was a job Shay wanted. It didn’t matter.

But Brody’s agent had apparently strong-armed someone at the bank, who spilled the beans about her mama’s financial woes. Now Brody could scuttle the whole dang thing with a few choice words to her academic advisor. In a moment of madness, Shay wanted to tell Brody he could take his personal chef’s job and shove it. If the Platinum Palace were gone, she’d be free to do what she wanted. But it was a fact of life that Shay would never be free to do what she wanted.

She looked from the ugly paper in front of her to his blue eyes. There was nothing charming about them now. Instead, they were shrewd and calculating. Shay doubted many people saw this side of Brody Janik and she rather wished she wasn’t seeing it, either. But as her daddy would say, Brody had her between a rock and a hard place. The only thing to do was to figure out a way to work it to her advantage. Having access to a professional athlete and his diet would definitely provide her with the information she needed for her thesis. It meant she wouldn’t have to get up with the roosters to meet with the high school swim team every morning to collect data.

Shay scanned the document again. “The deal is I cook for you. Nothing else.”

“We’ve already covered that there’ll be nothing else.”

She tried not cringe at his words. “You have to eat what I prepare, when I tell you to.”

Brody narrowed his eyes. “Within reason.”

“No. This is nonnegotiable. If you want to properly manage your blood sugar so it doesn’t affect your game, you have to do it my way.”

Shay could tell from his body language that she was testing his patience. Part of her hoped he’d back off from this loony plan—but only a small part. The rest of her was excited to put some of her skills to use. After all, it might be the only opportunity she had to use her education as she’d intended.

“I’m not eating anything crazy,” he argued. “Like tofu or funny vegetables.”

“What constitutes a funny vegetable?”

“Anything that isn’t green beans or corn.”

She rolled her eyes as her brain geared up for the challenge. “Corn is like pure sugar, a simple carbohydrate, actually, and something you need to avoid.”

Brody sighed in annoyance. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Just e-mail my assistant with a list of the groceries you need and she’ll have them delivered.” He handed her a business card for a Gwen Olsen. “Now, give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“So I can call you when I get hungry.” He snatched the phone from her hand, presumably entering his number on her keypad. The phone in his pants pocket rang and he handed hers back to her. “The contract prohibits you from distributing my number also, in case you get any ideas.” He handed her a pen. “Do we have a deal?”

“Do I have a choice?”

A flicker of something passed over his face, but it was gone before Shay could identify it. “No. Neither one of us does.”

Shay took the pen and signed the form with less reluctance than she should have felt.

“You can start tonight, so tell your neighbor you’re not available to babysit.”

Maddox’s mother, Jackie, worked weekends mostly, when her mother-in-law could come up to watch her kids. Shay and Mrs. Elder were only backups, but he didn’t need to know that. “I don’t get finished here until two thirty. Then I have my seniors for water aerobics at three thirty. That doesn’t leave me time to get a grocery list to your assistant and have the food delivered.”

“Excuses already?” But he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed her a fifty. “Is that enough to get you started?”

Shay nodded.

“I’ll have a taxi pick you up because you are
not
riding your bike the ten miles to my house.”

“I have a car.” She tried not to grin at the look of surprise on his face.

“Fine. I put the address in your phone. The guard at the gate will be expecting you.”

Taking the contract back, he folded it up, before gesturing for her to precede him out the door. Shay hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, as she looked over her shoulder at Brody. “You can trust me, Brody. But can I trust you not to sabotage my degree? Or my mama’s livelihood?”

He looked truly affronted by her question. “This is just insurance. To keep you from spilling my secrets. As long as you don’t go shooting your mouth off, you’ll be okay.”

Which meant she had to find the team snitch before he or she
did
spill more of Brody’s secrets.

Shay left the storeroom, Brody on her heels, both of them nearly colliding with the Blaze head coach who was leaning, nonchalantly, against the doorframe.

“Hello, kids,” Matt Richardson said, a knowing grin on his face.

She felt Brody inhale sharply behind her before he stepped out to stand next to her.

“There’s quite a lot of chatter going on back there about you two.” The coach eyed Brody.

“It’s none of their business.” Brody’s body was rigid with tension beside her, but his face sported that aw-shucks smile he used as a shield.

Shay’s stomach did a flip-flop. The contract she’d just signed wouldn’t matter if the team dismissed her.
Hell’s bells.
All her work may have been for nothing.

“Normally, this is when I give the speech about not wanting my players to be distracted by anything or anyone. But right now, this lady”—he nodded toward Shay—“is more important to the team.”

If Shay wasn’t so mortified by the coach’s incorrect assumption of what they were doing in the storeroom, she might have laughed at the complete look of bafflement on Brody’s face. As she’d already discovered, he wasn’t used to not being the center of the universe.

Coach Richardson’s gaze softened as he shifted it to Shay. “I’d have a mutiny on my hands if the players didn’t get those shakes you make every day. And my daughter would kill me, too. She got an A-minus on her chemistry quiz and is demanding I hire you as a tutor.”

A proud smile broke out on Shay’s face. “I’d love to. She’s a sweet girl. Smart, too.”

Brody draped an arm over her shoulders. “Well, Coach, Shannon’s a pretty busy girl, what with studying and her work here. Did you know she also teaches water aerobics? I’m not sure she has an extra minute in her day for anything else.”

Shay knew exactly what Brody was up to; he wanted her to be available anytime he hollered. But, by eliminating the need to collect data from the swimmers, he’d inadvertently just given her back an hour and a half to her day. She’d have plenty of free time to tutor Emma.

“Don’t be silly. I can work with her here in the commissary one or two days a week. Or, I can come to your home on the weekends. Just let me know.”

Relief spread over the coach’s face. “Great. My wife will bring her by tomorrow after school. Just let her know how much you charge.” He glanced back at Brody. “Practice is in ten minutes, Janik. And remember, don’t do a thing to make this woman unhappy or you’ll answer to me.”

Brody turned to her, his eyes smoldering—with what, she wasn’t exactly sure. “Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem, Coach,” he said, the smile on his face as fake as the pearls her mama wore to Junior League. Before she knew what he was up to, he leaned over to place an openmouthed kiss on the sensitive skin just below her ear. His breath was warm as he lingered a moment before whispering just loud enough for the coach to overhear, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Shay didn’t bother answering. She couldn’t. After that kiss, she was too busy reaching a hand out for the wall, trying to keep her body from melting into a puddle on the floor.

Shay shouldn’t have been
shocked by Brody’s house, but she was. It wasn’t at all what she’d imagined. Not that she was expecting a stripper pole in the living room, but she wasn’t prepared for the bachelor athlete’s house to be so—homey. Comfortable oversized furniture took up most of the great room. Books and magazines—surprisingly suitable for both men and women—were spread out on the oak coffee table next to a well-used backgammon set. Most startling of all was the basket of toys in the corner of the room.

“Somehow, I figured there’d be more TVs and gaming systems decorating your place, as well as . . . other things.” Embarrassed by the path her thoughts were taking, she turned away, opening the wide double doors of the Sub-Zero refrigerator in the roomy kitchen.

Casually dressed in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a designer T-shirt, Brody leaned a hip against the granite counter, watching intently as she inspected the contents of the vegetable bin. “Sorry to disappoint, but my mom isn’t a big fan of all that crap. There’s a TV downstairs in the man cave if there’s something you just have to watch.”

Shay jerked her gaze back to Brody. “You didn’t tell me you live with your mother?”

He had the audacity to laugh. “I don’t. But she and the rest of my family visit often.”

“How often?”

“I don’t know. One of them is here at least once a week. Does it matter?” His lips curved into that dangerous smile. “I’m more curious about the other things you pictured in my house. What were you thinking of, Texas?”

She let out an exasperated sigh, ignoring his second question. “It does matter, Brody, if you eat what they’re eating. I’m putting you on a strict diet here; one you can’t veer off of if you want to keep your blood sugar level.”

Brody scoffed at her. “My mom’s a diabetic. I can have what she has.”

“Oh and that’s been really successful so far.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Look, Brody, just because your mama has diabetes doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. Even if you do, you burn twice, maybe three times as much glucose as she does just by virtue of the fact you’re a professional athlete. You can’t control your blood sugar the way she does. But your low blood sugar may be caused by something else. Didn’t your doctor mention a thing called reactive hypoglycemia?”

His smile long gone, he remained silent, which Shay took as a no.

“You
have
been to a doctor for this?” She was a little afraid of what his answer might be.

“Of course,” he replied, his tone indignant. “My cousin keeps an eye on my blood sugar.”

“And your cousin is a medical doctor, right?”

Brody crossed his arms over his chest. “Funny. He graduated first in his class at Tufts.”

“So your family knows about your blood sugar issues.”

“Just Jerry, but he’s not talking.”

Shay pulled a bag of arugula out of her shopping bag and began searching the well-stocked cabinets for a colander. “You either paid him off with Super Bowl tickets or your Machiavellian agent has something on the good doctor.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t answer.

“Are you sure your agent isn’t the leader of a Mexican drug cartel?” She mumbled as she rinsed the lettuce in the sink.

“I’m sure. Now, tell me what I need to know about this reactive hypoglycemia.”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. Hypoglycemia occurs when your body uses up more blood glucose than your food intake supplies. Ninety percent of blood glucose in the body is used and disposed of by the skeletal muscles. Athletes have a greater percentage of lean skeletal muscle to body mass, so it makes sense that they’d use more blood glucose.”

“So are you saying that my teammates may have the same thing?”

“Not exactly. There’s a bit more science that goes into it, involving your glucose transporters. Normally, a rapid decrease of blood glucose is offset when your hormones stimulate your liver to shoot more glucose into your system, but in the case of some extreme athletes, that doesn’t happen.”

Brody ran his fingers through his hair. “Well I need it to happen.”

Shay reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Brody, reactive hypoglycemia is almost always controlled by regulating your diet. What and when you eat. That’s what you have me for. You’re going to be fine.”

He glanced at her hand on his shoulder before looking at her face, a hint of uncertainty briefly flickering in his eyes. “Are you always this confident about everything you do?”

Ha! If he only knew.
“My daddy likes to say I’m tough as a boot.”

They stood there for a moment, the silence profound, until a slow grin spread over Brody’s face. “Your father sounds like a smart man.”

Shay wondered what Brody’s reaction would be if he knew her daddy wore adult diapers.

“So your sister is a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, huh?”

Reluctantly pulling her hand off his shoulder, she went back to preparing his dinner. She’d wondered when he’d get to the subject of her iconic sister. Most of the time, it didn’t take a man five minutes before he asked about Teryn. Brody must have had infinite self-control because Shay knew he was not slow. Either that or he’d already experienced his share of Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders.

“Yep. For three years now.” Shay pulled the salmon out of its wrapper, slapped it on a cutting board, and doused each side with olive oil, before spreading a mixture of chopped parsley, fresh chives, and some zest of lemon over top.

“Does she like it?” Brody’s gaze was intense, almost as if he sensed that she was uncomfortable discussing her sister and he wanted to get a reaction out of Shay by asking ridiculous questions.

What girl wouldn’t want to be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader? Except for Shay, of course, but she’d been different from the start, something her Meemaw never failed to point out. For Teryn, the position was a dream come true. Her sister had craved being the center of attention all her life. She was gorgeous and she knew it. Now, she was an international sex symbol. The beautiful Everett daughter was doing exactly what she was bred to do. Shay didn’t feel like elaborating on her sister’s perfect life, so she just shrugged her shoulders in answer.

“You don’t know?” Brody asked. “I thought twins were supposed to be close.”

“Obviously we’re not identical twins so we don’t have that kind of bond. But we are sisters.” She shrugged again when an explanation wouldn’t come. “Even though we’re pretty different, I guess we’re close. We shared everything growing up.”

Brody let out a little snort. “I have four older sisters. Growing up, the one thing they hated to do was share.”

He’d hit the nail on the head with that statement. Teryn hated sharing. She’d wanted to exist in her own orbit, leaving Shay rusticating at its far corners. Far enough away so as not to remind their family that one of them was less than perfect.

“Is she as industrious as you are?” Somehow he’d made the word
industrious
sound sexy and Shay wasn’t sure whether the heat she felt was from the open oven or Brody’s stare.

Teryn was industrious, mostly when it came to having the best-looking man on her arm. She was happiest when a man was buying her things and treating her like the princess their Meemaw brought her up to be. The problem was, Teryn had a habit of hitching her wagon to the wrong stud. Her last boyfriend had promised to finance her training as a dental hygienist, only to leave her halfway through school. As a result, Teryn had a barnful of student loans and was no help with their mama’s financial crisis.

It was ironic how Shay was actually having a conversation with a hot guy and her sister was still able to butt in from nearly fourteen hundred miles away. It was the story of Shay’s life. She needed to take the bull by the horns and steer their conversation to a different course.

“Last week, when you were in the locker room talking with your trainer, did you notice anyone else around?”

If Brody realized she was changing the subject, he didn’t comment on it. He gave her a speculative look. “I didn’t even see you there.”

“I was hiding in the back.”

“You must have had a pretty good view.”

“Not really. I didn’t see anything.” Her feverish skin undoubtedly gave her away.

Brody leaned in close to her flushed cheek. “Liar. You couldn’t have heard what you did without being close enough to get a good look. Did you like what you saw, Texas?”

Shay needed to put a stop to his flirtation because they both knew he wasn’t going to follow through. Once again, her mouth took the lead, forcing her brain to play catch up. “I’m going to find the snitch, Brody.”

 • • • 

The quiet certainty in
Shannon’s voice startled Brody. The sight of her in his kitchen, all legs in a pair of black jeans tucked into hand-tooled cowboy boots, was doing strange things to his body. Again. Instead of smelling like a swimming pool as she had after her water aerobics class earlier in the week, she smelled fresh, like baby powder and sunshine. She’d tamed her unruly hair into a braid at the side of her face that threatened to come undone at the first shake of her head. Her pale blue sweater made the flecks of gold in her eyes sparkle. Unfortunately, those eyes held a little bit of crazy in them, too.

“What?” Surely he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“I said I’m going to find the snitch.” She squeezed some lemon juice over the lettuce concoction.

“Shannon, we both know who the snitch is and I’m looking at her.” The feeling swirling around in his gut was probably hunger because there was no way it was doubt.

She poured olive oil into the bowl and sighed. “No, Brody, as I keep telling you, I’m not. But when something else is reported on that stupid blog, I’ll have no way to prove it wasn’t me. So I have to find the person who’s been leaking information about Blaze players just so I can exon erate myself.” She spooned some capers in with the lettuce mixture.

“You’re not going after any snitch and I’m not eating anything with capers in it.” His inner caveman had taken over his personality again and Brody realized he just didn’t care anymore.

Shannon gave him a look of disgust. “Oh for glory sakes, Brody, how old are you? Just pick the capers out. And you
will
eat all the vegetables because you need the vitamin K to help regulate your glucose production.” She tossed the green stuff together with the capers. “And don’t for one minute think you can keep me from going after the snitch.”

Brody stood, his hands firmly on his hips so he wouldn’t strangle her, wondering exactly when he’d lost control of the situation. His plan had been simple enough: keep a close eye on her by having her prepare his meals to keep his blood sugar in check. He should have known by now, however, that with Shannon nothing was simple. She didn’t operate like other women he knew.

“When you’re ready to eat, put the fish in the oven for nine to ten minutes. The salad goes on the side. There’s a loaf of five-grain bread here, too, but you can only have the amount I’ve cut for you. That’s a big piece of fish, so if you only eat two thirds of it, you’ll have enough protein to last until later.” She pointed to a spreadsheet she’d attached to the door of his stainless steel fridge. “Here’s a list of the snacks you need to eat over the next six hours and again when you wake up in the morning. The first snack of the day is really important, so don’t forget.”

“You’re not staying for dinner?” Growing up in a big family, Brody hated eating alone. It’d been two years since he’d had roommates living here, but he still hadn’t gotten used to the quiet house around him.

“Nothing in our deal specifies that I have to actually
feed
you your dinner.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or clean it up, in case that’s what you’re really after.”

He groaned in exasperation. “A housekeeper comes in the mornings to clean.”

“Sheesh, Brody, how many of those extortion contracts has your agent executed for you?”

Her mouth twitched slightly at the corners and Brody realized he desperately wanted to see what she looked like when she smiled. Hell, he wanted to know everything about her.

“You said yourself the piece of fish is larger than I need. Don’t you want to make sure I eat it all? Or do you have other plans for the evening?” Even as he asked the question, he didn’t want to know if the answer was yes. Jealousy clawed at his belly, there was no mistaking that for hunger. Unless it was his hunger for her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t handle not getting your way, can you, Brody?”

“Is that a yes or a no?” he ground out.

“I really should get home. I have lots of data analysis to finish tonight.”

Triumph surged through his veins. She wasn’t meeting another guy for dinner. “Fish is brain food. Stay and eat a quick dinner first.”

She shot him a measuring glance before turning and placing the salmon in the oven. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her mumbling something about him being spoiled as he grabbed two plates out of the cabinet.

“So what type of data are you analyzing?” he asked.

Carrying the lackluster salad to the table, she studied him carefully, as if to assess whether or not he could understand what she was researching. It galled him that she apparently thought he was nothing more than a dumb jock.

“Actually, I’m studying the effects certain foods have on the body’s athletic performance,” she said, evidently deciding he could grasp the basics. “That’s how I was familiar with reactive hypoglycemia. I’ve been using a group of high school swimmers to gather my data, but now I can use you instead. And, since I’ll be able to really regulate what you eat, my data will be more precise.”

Brody wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being her human guinea pig, but he had been the one to force the contract. She’d just found a way to use it to her advantage. As he pulled a bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge, he reminded himself again that Shannon was a force to be reckoned with and he couldn’t manipulate her the way he would any other woman.

He poured the wine into a glass.

“You can’t have that!”

He turned to find her staring in horror at the wineglass, the basket of bread in her hand, nearly a casualty.