Harley Brennan, Running Back Read online

  It was the hardest thing Shyla had ever done—putting Harley’s best interest before her own wants and desires. She remained hidden week after week as he squired different women to the glamorous settings she crafted. Harley deserves to find true love. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that that love should come from her.

  She had taken to eavesdropping on the girls when Harley was away on dates. The young women hung out at the pool, some in the enormous, wooden hot tub, drinking, gossiping, and getting to know each other. Alliances were formed, and enemies were made.

  Shy gulped when she overheard them talking about him as if he was a prize, the brass ring on the carousel. Yet, she had to snicker to see him objectified by the young ladies.

  “He’s got a great butt,” Cathy said, smearing sunblock on her arms.

  “Oh, God, yeah. But his shoulders. I can’t wait until he comes to the pool. His shirtless pictures online are amazing,” Mallory said, flipping over to tan her back.

  “Bet he’s got a six-pack,” Lorna put in. “Bet he’s great in bed. Being an athlete and all. He’s probably in great shape.”

  “Did he take off his shirt on your date at the beach, Vanessa?” Cathy asked.

  “It wasn’t that kind of date. We had dinner and talked.”

  “Come on. He must have done more than that?” Cathy prodded.

  Shyla lowered her book to watch Vanessa, who blushed.

  “Of course, he kissed me,” the brunette confessed.

  “Yeah? How many times?” Mallory asked.

  “If he makes a pass at me, I’m gonna cave. He’s just too hot,” Lorna said, shaking her head.

  Shyla wanted to giggle. Is this the way men talk about women? Men are probably cruder. Yet, she was surprised at how crude some of the contestants could be.

  Sitting in the shade, the redhead, Cathy, raised a pina colada to her lips. Vanessa gathered up her towel and went inside. Shyla was disappointed the young woman wouldn’t be talking more about her date with Harley.

  “He’s going on another date with Vanessa,” the blonde, Amber, said, taking the lounge chair next to Cathy.

  “I know. That bitch. She’s not here for the right reasons.”

  “You can say that again.” Amber flagged down a waiter and ordered a drink.

  Shyla sipped iced coffee on the other side of the foliage that separated the pool from the hot tub.

  Her producer, Sarah, joined her. “Listening to them, it’s amazing any of them get chosen,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  “They can be a bit vicious,” Shy agreed.

  “And some are sweet. I understand some friendships formed here last in the real world.”

  Shy raised her eyebrows. “Real world?”

  “This is fantasy land. It’s a miracle any of the relationships survive. Maybe I’m jaded from doing this year after year.”

  “Things change?”

  “Hell, yes! When the couple gets out into everyday life, doing laundry, coping with moods, family, job pressures, the bloom can wear off the rose rather quickly.”

  “The romantic settings here might inspire feelings that don’t last.”

  Sarah patted her arm. “That’s an understatement. And it’s all due to you, my dear. You’ve created some of the most romantic sets we’ve ever had.”

  “Thanks.” Shy cast her gaze to her glass.

  “And it seems to be working.”

  Shy’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

  “Harley seems to be narrowing things down. Looks like Vanessa will be a contender. Maybe that redhead too,” Sarah said, pointing to Cathy.

  “She’s very pretty,” Shyla conceded.

  “Sure is. Vanessa too. I doubt that Amber can compete.”

  “So, you think he’ll find his true love?”

  Sarah nodded. “Yep. Don’t know how long it’ll last, but he seems to be going in that direction.”

  “That should make Dan happy.”

  “Oh, yes. He’s a nervous wreck. Always worried the man or woman’ll back out.”

  Sadness weighed on Shy’s heart. She could have stopped Harley. She could have given up her career, moved in with him—he probably would have proposed. But she was supporting her brother and her father—it wasn’t only about what the designer wanted. She had responsibilities.

  She’d given up Harley for them. Had she done the right thing? Too late to second-guess herself. Harley was about to find his true love, and Shyla would simply become a memory.

  When Sarah left, the designer turned her attention back to Cathy and Amber.

  “Vanessa is just looking for publicity. She’s not in love with Harley,” the blonde said.

  “She says she is. Says she’s the best one for him.”

  Amber snorted. “Yeah, right. He’s cute. Nice. Sexy. I need more time with him.”

  “I think he’s great. He and I together.” Cathy sighed. “We’d be perfect.”

  “Does he like redheads?”

  Cathy threw her friend a sly look. “He makes jokes about finding out if the collar and cuffs match.”

  Amber cracked up.

  Before she could find out more, Dan came by. “We’re leaving tonight. Flying to Maine. Got your stuff together?”

  “I’m ready. When do they come?”

  “Not until tomorrow. Harley’s got a dinner with Vanessa tonight.”

  “How much longer till we’re down to the final three?”

  Dan rubbed his stubble. “Not much. Maybe five weeks.”

  She nodded. Five weeks left until I lose Harley for good. She took a deep breath then pushed up from her chair.

  * * * *

  Jetting to Maine, Harley closed his eyes. Images of women paraded before him—blondes, brunettes, and redheads. Women in jeans and T-shirts, or skimpy bikinis, or elegant evening gowns—and he couldn’t sleep with any of them. Not yet. Three names danced in his head—Vanessa, Cathy and Amber, whose sometimes sour attitude turned him off, and her blonde hair reminded him of Shyla. The others were all right, and he dreaded having to send them home each week. It broke his heart to give the last hug and see their tears, knowing he was the cause.

  Ever since his little sister had been born, Harley had developed a soft spot for women. She was much younger than he was—seven years. Little Lizzie, as he called her, had followed him around everywhere. She adored him, had learned to bake brownies just for him. And he loved her back. When she cried, a pain shot through him. That feeling had translated to watching any female cry—he couldn’t bear it. And now, he had to face it week after week.

  Harley sat in first class, and the women sat in coach. He was grateful for the time it gave him to sort out his feelings and rank the ladies. This week, he’d have to let two go, and it was killing him. Only a few weeks left until he made his choice. Sweat broke out under his arms.

  After the plane landed, they piled into two limos. Vanessa slipped in next to Harley. Tension eased from his muscles when her thigh brushed up against his. Still, he had to get to know all the women to make the best choice. He spent the time riding to their destination talking to three others he didn’t know as well.

  Vanessa frowned and snuck her hand under his arm, closing her fingers around his biceps. Sweat soaked his T-shirt and beaded on his forehead. Being on Marriage Minded carried more surprises than he had anticipated.

  The drive along the Maine coast to an old Inn overlooking the ocean should have been peaceful. Instead, the tension in the vehicle escalated to a level that dwarfed playing in the Super Bowl. Harley thought he knew women, but he’d never had to cope with so many at once. Jealousy thickened the air in the car. Getting to know newer girls while the ones he’d already spent time with vied for his attention made his stomach clench and his appetite go south.

  Harley needed down time. He escaped to his room, stretched out on the bed that faced the sea, and picked up his phone. Two missed calls from Trunk, his football buddy. He dialed.

  “How’s it going? Yo
u getting laid by a different girl every night?” the defenseman asked.

  Harley laughed. “No way. No sex yet. Just making out.”

  “Are they hot?”

  “Hot? Boiling over. And competitive as hell.” Harley pushed to his feet and paced in front of the window.

  “Competing for you? Any mud wrestling yet?” Harley could almost hear Trunk panting on the phone.

  “Very funny. But hanging by the pool is amazing. The bikinis are so small, the girls are practically naked.”

  “Oh, man. Your own personal strip club. I’m jealous as hell.”

  “You’ve got a smokin’ wife, Trunk. What are you bitchin’ about?”

  “True, true. She’s five alarm. And we don’t have to stop at making out.”

  “I’m jealous.”

  “Soon, you’ll be in the same situation.”

  “Yeah. I suppose. I hope so.”

  “Uh oh. That doesn’t sound like the confident, I’m-gonna-kick-their-asses guy I know.”

  “I’m okay. It’ll get done.”

  “Be happy, buddy.”

  “Thanks, Trunk. How are the guys? What’s going on?”

  Harley sank down into an overstuffed chair, kicked back, toed off his shoes, and gazed out at the sea while he listened to Trunk bring him up-to-date on this teammates’ antics. His shoulder muscles relaxed as he laughed with his friend.

  A knock on the door interrupted Harley’s trip down memory lane with the linebacker. It was Greg Carson. Harley said goodbye to Trunk and hung up.

  “Time for the cocktail party. Are you ready?” the MC asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Greg lounged against the doorjamb. “Are you okay? How are you doing? Feeling all right?”

  “The pressure’s a little hard.” Harley bent to tie his shoes.

  Greg cocked an eyebrow. “Pressure? From a man who’s played in two Super Bowls?”

  “Are you kidding? The Super Bowl is a walk in the park compared to ten women trying to get your attention at the same time.”

  Greg laughed. “Getting a bit difficult?”

  “You might say that. Geez. I don’t want them to hate each other.”

  “They’re all vying for you. I get it. This isn’t as easy as people think. And right about now, it ramps up to a lot tougher.”

  “Yeah. I’ve got to send two women home tonight, and I have no clue who.”

  Greg clapped Harley on the back. “Let’s go downstairs. You can get started making that decision. A drink might help.”

  “A drink? A dozen maybe.” Harley chuckled as he walked down the hall next to Greg. Excitement mixed with dread in his veins. Was the love of his life waiting in the lounge, or would he come up empty-handed again?

  * * * *

  Shyla and the intern carried down knitted throws in bright colors to the cozy library off the main dining room. Harley and his date would be hiking on the coast in the afternoon then cuddling up for an intimate dinner in front of a roaring fire. The daytime temperature was predicted to be about fifty-five to sixty degrees Fahrenheit, with the evening dropping down to forty. Pleasant during the day, but cool enough for a fire at night.

  Boxes of flowers and vases awaited the designers. A tray of delicacies, like maple syrup candy and chocolate truffles, were arranged on a small plate. Places were set on an antique trunk for a grand seafood meal. Wine glasses were polished to sparking. Silverware was real sterling, shiny enough for Shy to see her reflection.

  She draped the two blankets perfectly across the arms of the loveseat. Then, she stood back to look at the room and decide where the vases should go and which flowers would be best in each. The job wasn’t difficult, and under any other circumstances, she’d have enjoyed the variety and the travel. She let out a breath. Setting the stage for Harley Brennan to fall in love with someone else had gotten old fast. What was I thinking? This was the dumbest idea in the world.

  Tonight, Harley would be dining with Cathy. Shyla didn’t remember him gawking at any attractive redheads when they were together. Then, he hadn’t stared at any other women when he had been with her. The thought brought a smile to her face. With a huge sigh, she resumed her work, vowing to herself to do the best job possible, even if it chipped away at her heart, piece-by-piece.

  I have my reputation to consider. She’d taken the assignment because she had thought it wouldn’t be hard, since they hadn’t dated in a while. If it turned into a regular gig, it would be lucrative and fun, including some exotic, free travel. Now, she decided she’d lost her mind when she’d accepted and couldn’t wait for it to be over.

  When she finished up, she wandered over to the picture window to gaze at the sea. Her sight was caught by the redhead and Harley holding hands and wending their way along a winding, coastal path. Every smooch or hug was like a dart to her heart. As they drew nearer, she realized they’d be coming to the library soon. She tidied up, took the extra cloth and vases, and opened the closet door. Searching for storage space for all the items in the small room ate up more time than she had planned.

  Hearing footsteps on the concrete, she finished as they were climbing the front steps to the Inn. Retreating to her room, she blew out a breath as she patted her pockets for her key. It was in her purse. Where was her purse? Shit! It’s in the library! Shyla hit the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  She poked tentatively at the door. It swung open, revealing an empty room. She blew out the breath she had been holding. Harley’s voice, echoing down the hall, warned her that she might be trapped. Looking around frantically, she located her purse, grabbed it, squeezed into the closet, and closed the door.

  “Oh, my, look at this! It’s lovely,” Cathy proclaimed.

  Shyla held her breath, listening to their every word. She shut her eyes, hoping that would block the sound, but she could still make out Harley’s low snicker. Crap! I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to hear this.

  She heard the pop of a cork then remembered the bottle of champagne and the two glasses on a side table. Cathy lowered her voice, so it was hard for Shyla to catch every word. But Harley’s was loud and clear. She had always loved it, so deep and masculine. His laugh gave her shivers of pleasure.

  It was quiet for a moment. They must be making out. Her stomach turned queasy as she prayed for conversation to continue.

  After a few minutes, she tried to shift her weight without making any noise. Voices started again. The space was tight, but she managed to move enough to keep her circulation going and her legs from cramping. At least the closet air was scented by the leftover flowers she had tucked away in a corner. Soon, another aroma filled the air, something delicious. Their dinner! I’ll never get out of here. Her mouth watered, and her stomach rumbled at the smell. She prayed the noise stayed out of earshot.

  The sounds of utensils scraping together mixed with laughter and then quiet. They must be eating. Shyla had never been so famished. She shifted again and reached for her purse, which was at her feet. She inched it across the floor and unzipped the zipper slowly, so it wouldn’t make a sound. Once it was opened, she rummaged around until her fingers came in contact with a wrapper. Milky Way! Hunger gnawed at her as if she hadn’t eaten in days. She ripped off the paper then stopped, her mouth falling open in horror at the loud noise, magnified in the airless room. She held her breath, listening.

  The talking and utensil sound continued. Shyla let out her breath and took a big bite of the candy bar. She had bought the extra-large one because they hadn’t had a smaller one, and now, she was glad. A clatter of dishes meant that the waiter had taken away their food. She wolfed down the rest of the sweet and prayed they’d be leaving soon.

  She cracked the door open to get some fresh air and heard their voices more distinctly. Now, she could make out most of the words.

  “Let’s see if there are any lights in the ocean. It’s dark. If there are ships out there, they’ll be lit up,” Harley said.

  Shy heard their feet on th
e floor as they walked away. Soon. I’ll be out of here soon. Come on, Harley. Take her upstairs already. You know you want to.

  The idea of him sleeping with Cathy infuriated her. Then, she scolded herself, silently, because she had no right to be mad. She heard murmurings of retiring for the night from Harley. Shyla was relieved and hoped there would still be some dinner for her somewhere as her stomach, not satisfied with candy alone, was demanding attention.

  Then, there was another voice. It was Sarah. “Have you seen the designer?”

  “Who?” Harley asked.

  Shyla’s heart leapt into her mouth. She swallowed, but it wouldn’t go down. No, no, Sarah. Don’t say my name. Don’t. No. Please.

  “Didn’t you meet her in L.A.?”

  “I don’t think so. Cathy?” Harley responded.

  “Nope,” the redhead replied.

  “Oh. I thought everybody knew Shyla.”

  There was silence. Shy held her breath and shut her eyes. Maybe he didn’t hear?

  “Shyla? Not Shyla Hollings?” It was Harley’s voice, a full octave higher than before.

  “Yes, that’s her. Then, you have met her. Seen her?”

  “Oh, I’ve met her. No, I haven’t seen her.”

  “If you do, will you tell her I’m looking for her?”

  “I sure will.” The slow, lazy tone of his words, which only Shy knew represented dry fury, sent chills through her.

  An overwhelming sense of dread lodged in her chest. Her hands got clammy, her breath came in short spurts, and her heart thumped in her neck. Worse than being called into the principal’s office, worse than being fired—she’d rather face a hungry lion than Harley Brennan right now.

  She opened her eyes. He doesn’t know I’m in here. Relief flooded through her. She heard the couple talk about returning to their rooms. She pushed the button on her watch that made the face glow and saw that it was eleven already. A click told her the light switch had been thrown. She inched the door open farther and stopped. It was totally dark.

  She scurried out of the closet, stuck her head out the door to check that the hall was empty, and made a beeline for her room. Once inside, she shut and locked the door. She called Sarah, told her she didn’t feel well, and ordered room service. When the knock came, she jumped, but it was only the waiter.