Winning the Right Brother

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He held back a smile. “So what would magic feel like?”

She looked down at the table. “Well … goose bumps. Shivers. Your heart beating faster, your knees feeling weak. But I think I’m expecting too much.”

She looked so vulnerable as she said that, her expression a little embarrassed, her cheeks turning pink. He wanted to tilt her chin up so she was looking right at him, he wanted to lean in close and—

I could make your knees feel weak, he thought.

On the other hand, maybe not. Holly had never given the slightest indication that she reacted to him the way he did to her. Besides which, they bugged the hell out of each other, which would seem to indicate a certain level of incompatibility. And on top of that Holly was a forever kind of woman, while he was a few-months-at-most kind of guy—as Rich had so considerately pointed out.

Still—“You ought to hold out for magic,” he said gruffly. “You deserve magic. There’s someone out there who’ll make you feel that way.”

She kept her eyes down, arranging the torn pieces of label in a neat pile with a fingertip. “I don’t know about that. Maybe I shouldn’t shoot for the moon. I have Will, and I have friends, and I’ve got a job I love. That’s pretty good, right? Maybe I’m not meant to have more.”

Something about that quiet statement stabbed him through the heart. He started to tell her how wrong she was, but then he noticed Rich come out of the bathroom and lurch erratically toward the bar.

“Let me take you home,” he said instead. He glanced at Gina and her fiancе, who were engaged in a long, slow kiss. “Your friends seem occupied, and your date is on his way to being unconscious. None of you should be driving tonight.”

“I was going to take a taxi.”

“Let me drive you.”

Holly shook her head. “I know I haven’t felt any magic yet, but Rich is sort of cute … and nice … and he seems interested. Maybe if I let things go a little further I’ll start to feel something.”

The idea of things going “a little further” between Holly and Rich made his whole body tense up. Rich rejoined them at that moment, handing a fresh beer to Alex and leaning down to nuzzle the back of Holly’s neck. Alex gripped the bottle so hard he was surprised the glass didn’t break.

“Did I mention how good you look?” Rich asked, reaching over her shoulder for Holly’s top button again. Holly smacked his hand away again, but with less force than last time.

This was none of his business. In all the time he’d known her Holly had never asked for his help, and had never accepted it when it was offered. She’d never done anything but push him away. But he couldn’t just leave her here like this, too drunk to make good decisions, her friends too drunk to realize it, and Rich too drunk to keep his damn hands to himself.

“You need to stop doing that,” he said to Rich.

Even through the haze of alcohol, Rich heard the steel in his voice. He stared at Alex. Then he looked at Holly. “What’s the story here?” he asked.

She blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Does Alex have some kind of claim on you?”

“A claim? On me? Of course not.”

Rich turned to look at him again, and his expression was belligerent. “Back off,” he said.

Alex got to his feet. “I’m taking you home,” he told Holly.

“I’m taking her home,” Rich insisted, putting a proprietary hand on her arm.

“Not in a million years,” Alex said. He put a hand on the other man’s chest and gave a quick, hard push that sent him stumbling backward several feet.

“Hey!” Holly said, jumping up. “I can take care of myself. And you’re not the boss of me, Alex McKenna.”

“For tonight, I am.”

He put his hands on her waist and lifted her, amazed at how light she was. Then he threw her over his shoulder and strode out of the bar, ignoring the startled protests from her friends, from Rich and from Holly herself.

She was pounding on his back with her fists, but that wasn’t as distracting as having so much of her pressed up against him for the second time that night. It was a relief when he got the passenger door open and could deposit her in the front seat, snapping her safety belt into place.

He was betting her advanced state of intoxication would prevent her from getting out of the car before he could get in, and he was right. She was still fumbling to undo the belt when he slid in behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition.

After a couple of minutes, she gave up.

“I’m going to be really, really mad at you once I’m sober again.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that. Just … tossed me over your shoulder.” She waved a hand in the air to emphasize her point and accidentally smacked him on the side of the head. He winced.

“And all because I was trying to have fun for once in my life,” she grumbled, folding her arms and slouching down in her seat. “I know you think I’m uptight. You should be glad to see me loosen up.”

“I don’t mind you loosening up. I just mind you letting some drunken idiot unbutton your sweater in public.”

“He’s not an idiot. And I can take my clothes off if I want to. It’s a free country.”

“Fine,” he snapped as he pulled onto the highway. “The next time I see you three sheets to the wind in the middle of a sports bar, you’re on your own. Take off anything you want.”

“All right, I will,” she said. And before Alex had time to stop her, she grasped the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head.

It was sheer luck that kept him from smashing into the truck ahead of them. He had one glimpse of creamy skin and apricot lace before he wrenched his eyes forward and got control of the car.

“Put your sweater back on.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Holly—”

“No.”

He took a deep breath and let it out again. “Please put your sweater back on,” he said more quietly. “Please?”

There was a moment of silence, during which Alex exerted every bit of his willpower to keep his eyes on the road. He was intensely aware of the woman sitting beside him, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her soft, bare skin just inches away. She smelled like tequila and roses, a strangely erotic combination.

“Okay,” she said finally, tugging the soft black sweater back over her head. Alex wasn’t sure if his relief or his disappointment was more intense.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

“That’s all right,” Holly said, and her voice sounded so resigned that he glanced over at her in surprise.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. It’s just … you flirt with every woman you see, but when I took off my top you wouldn’t even look at me. Do you think I’m repulsive or something?”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you crazy? I—” He stopped himself before he could go too far. “I mean, it’s not like that with us. We don’t like each other, remember? You only took off your sweater because you’re drunk. I’d never take advantage of you like that.”

He wasn’t sure she’d even heard him.

“I’ve never been any good at flirting. Or dating, for that matter.” She rolled down her window and put a hand out to catch the night air. “I haven’t had sex in three years. Three years, Alex. I think I’ve forgotten how.”

What was she doing to him? If she was going to talk about sex he was going to have a hell of a time showing the restraint he’d just talked about.

And once she woke up tomorrow morning and remembered this conversation, she’d never talk to him again. He knew Holly—she wouldn’t forgive him for seeing her guard down like this.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” he said warily, wondering what was coming now.

“Why did you leave the NFL?”

He glanced at her in surprise, and saw her looking at him curiously. Well, at least they weren’t talking about sex.

He turned his eyes back to the road and tried to adjust to the change in topic.

“Why did I leave the NFL,” he muttered. He glanced at her again. “I don’t usually talk about that, but if you’re sure you want to know—”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, then.” He hesitated, remembering that time in his life. “Back when I was a pro athlete I got involved in a mentoring program with teenagers. I was working with this one boy, a really nice kid named Charles. He was a good student and a great football player. I worked with him for two years, right up until he got accepted to Michigan State. The day after he got the letter, he took twenty of his mom’s antidepressant pills with a bottle of vodka and killed himself.”

Holly gasped. “Alex, how awful. But … what did that have to do with you leaving the NFL?”

“After Charles died, his parents and I found out that he’d been using steroids. I didn’t have a clue. He never talked to me about it, never said a word. He must have thought I was too much of a straight arrow to ask about something like that. And he was right—I never got into that crap. One of the many reasons is that it can affect your emotional balance, make you suicidal … especially if you’re a teenager.”

He took a breath. “I kicked myself for not seeing the signs. The acne, the mood swings, the way he bulked up so fast. But the fact is, I’d gotten used to seeing the signs. They were around me every day in the locker room. And even though I never did it myself, I turned a blind eye to it. It was just so much a part of the culture … as bad as it sounds, I started to take it for granted. After Charles died, I decided I didn’t want a job where I could take something like that for granted. I decided I wanted to work with kids instead.”

He grinned suddenly. “Or maybe I was just tired of getting beaten into the ground every Sunday. Either way, it was time to leave and I left.”

Holly was looking at him thoughtfully. “I’m glad you left the NFL,” she said after a moment. “I’m glad you came back here to Weston. I’m glad you’re Will’s coach.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well … thanks, Holly.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure.”

“Why were you such a jerk in high school?”

Now he raised both eyebrows. “Hey, who said I was a jerk?” He waited a beat, then shook his head. “Okay, even I don’t buy that one. Yeah, I was a jerk. Most teenage boys are, you know. I hope you don’t think Will is typical.”

“No, I know he’s not typical. But you weren’t, either. I mean … I suppose most teenage boys are obnoxious, but you were …”

“More obnoxious than most? Maybe I was. Well—I hated my family, for one thing. One of the original excuses for teenage rebellion.”

“Why did you hate them?”

“I never knew my real father—he took off before I was born. My mom died when I was eight and that left me with my stepfather. He and Brian never had much use for me, and I had even less for them. I wasn’t related to them by blood, and they’re the kind of people that matters to. I left home as soon as I could.”