He dashed his knuckles across his nose. “I wasn’t going to say that. On the field.”
At last, we were getting somewhere. “By playing ball?” I added, my fingers hitting the keys to capture some more notes.
Reed grunted, lifting one sneaker-encased foot and resting it on his other knee. “Nope. When I’m unleashing hell on the opposition.”
I stopped typing, straightening in my seat as our eyes reconnected. “Unleashing hell on the opposition? I thought your issues were solely with Kyle Anderson?”
“Well, yeah, there’s that prick, and then there’s beating the living shit out of other dirty players.” I noticed Reed had started to shake the foot that sat on his knee. That body language suggested a deep-rooted frustration. I added that to my notes. “Andanyway, the last time I danced with Anderson, I lightly tapped him.” It was clear from his harsh tone that there was no love lost there. “Fucking momma's boy.”
“You broke his nose.” I pointed out with a wry look.
“He had it coming.”
“Did you not feel guilty afterwards?” I rasped.
“Not even in the fucking slightest.”
Our conversation was suddenly like a verbal tennis match.
“Hey, I did the dude a service. Pretty boys don’t get the girls, and he’s certainly not that anymore with the new beak I gave him.”
Moving my hands from the keys, I leaned back in my seat. “I must say, I thought out of all the Sawyer brothers, you were the calmest. Hudson was always the most irrational.”
He sniffed, watching me with a cold expression. “Things change.”
I broke that connection by taking the mouse and clicking save on his file. “Indeed. So, in a nutshell, you’re suddenly having difficulty controlling your temper?”
“Only on the field. Anywhere else, I’m a pussy cat. Like now, for instance. Under the circumstances, I’m quite calm.” His mouth started to do that tight-lipped thing, like he was mentally listing all the bad things I had done to him when we were together.
I lowered the laptop screen with a curious eye. “The circumstances?”
Reed shuffled in his seat and then rolled his shoulders. “Stop repeating me, it’s as annoying as fuck. Yes, the circumstances, after what you did to me. Surely right now, after all these years, you’d think I’d want payback. Maybe the chance to wring your pretty little neck?” By the end of his sentence, he sat taller in his seat again.
I found his words intriguing, my professional head pushing to the front. “And you don’t want that?”
He took a minute to answer, weighing up the situation. I knew he could tell I was taking our discussion seriously and like a professional. From the glint in his eyes, I could read that he was about to strip it back to basics again.
“No. Not entirely. I do want something, though.” I should have backed down, but I needed to know more about the look he was giving me. It was determination and something else, hunger? I yearned for that expression to continue, as it suddenly felt so much better than the emptiness.
My voice dropped an octave as I swallowed. “What do you want?”
That glint in his eye made my skin prickle. “Maybe I want another taste, Storm?” It was impossible to ignore the possessive stamp of those words.
My pulse kicked into overdrive as I raised my laptop screen again. “Surely your latest girlfriend wouldn’t like that?” I questioned, glancing away. I then alternated my focus between him and my keyboard. Eye contact with Reed was giving me butterflies.
“I don’t have a girlfriend. Girlfriends are like fishing: a time-consuming and boring hobby,” he announced.
Cutting him a look, my eyes dropped to his lips. They were so sinful, I wanted to bite them, maybe make him bleed. Thoughts of Reed with other women were killing me inside. “But I’ve seen you in the tabloids with plenty of women.”
Reed’s eyes creased as he grinned. “You been checking up on me?”
I gave him a sharp look. “No. You’re the golden boy of the NFL. You can’t scroll through social media without seeing your face.”
“They’re not my girlfriends. They’re just women I screw. Why are you so interested?”
“Reed,” I warned.
“Storm,” he parroted, his face full of sinful intentions.
