Double Team

"What the hell was I thinking?”

I don't believe I heard my idiot roommate correctly. I have to remind myself that Aiden is also my idiot best friend and that he's been my idiot best friend since we were in high school, because if I didn't remind myself of that fact, I'd be punching him right now.

I'm unnaturally pissed off about the fact that Grace Sullivan is my neighbor. More specifically, I'm pissed off that Grace Sullivan is the girl that Aiden has been lusting after – and acting like a complete moron over.

"You agreed to go to the ranch with her and a bunch of kids?" Aiden asks. "You can barely stomach being around me, let alone a bunch of other people – especially children. Seriously, do you even know how to talk to a kid?”

"There's a reason I can barely stomach being around you," I growl. “It was a passing conversation with the President. I barely agreed to anything."

A conversation where I implied that I’d get personally involved with the camp, just because the First Lady seemed to be hell-bent on communicating that I shouldn’t be looking at Grace the way I was.

I'd really enjoy taking a hands-on approach to helping.

That's what I said, or something like that. The mere thought of taking a hands-on approach to Grace Sullivan makes all the blood in my body rush straight to my dick.

"The President, huh?" Aiden asks. "Well la-di-dah."

"Oh, fuck off."

"The girl is clearly more attracted to me than she is to you," Aiden says casually, bypassing me as he walks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator where he immediately begins rummaging through my groceries.

"Why the hell am I letting you stay here for the summer again?" I ask, watching as he opens a container of my leftover spaghetti and grabs a fork from the nearby cabinet drawer. "She's hardly more attracted to you than she is to me. The idea is laughable."

Except that I'm not laughing. In fact, the prospect of that girl being attracted to Aiden at all grates on my last fucking nerve. It shouldn't. After all, I don't know the first thing about her and I have no claim over her.

Hell, I only even met her the one time at the charity event. She's not mine, and logically I know that. Except that from the second I put my hands on her, every part of me wanted to claim her as mine. It's not a logical response, that much I'm aware of. It's some kind of weird, abnormal reaction, and I should absolutely not entertain the faintest notion of touching Grace Sullivan again. Except that she’s the only thing I want.

"How exactly is that laughable?" Aiden asks, shoveling a giant forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. Watching him eat my leftover food makes me irrationally angry. "When's the last time you got with someone?"

I grab the container from his hand and toss it into the trash, just because he’s pissing me off. "I'm sure someone like her is totally interested in a guy who's screwed half of the cheerleaders in Denver. And with that little stunt you pulled, you're lucky if she doesn't get a restraining order against you."

Aiden leans back against the counter, crossing his arms and eyeballing me silently. "You're jealous."

"Are you insane? You’d have to be certifiable to think that I’m jealous of you.”

Aiden grins. "Dude, I know you. You're jealous because you have the hots for her and you think she's got a thing for me."

I choke out a laugh, except it rings hollow. "Keep saying dumb shit like that, Aiden. If you think a woman like that is going to hook up with you, you're crazier than I thought."

"And you think she's going to hook up with you?"

"It's more likely than her getting with you."

"All right. You want to bet on it?"

"I'm not betting on whether or not the daughter of the President of the United States is going to hook up with one of us."

Aiden makes a squawking sound.

"Don't be a child. I'm not a chicken."

"Then you wouldn't mind a friendly wager."

"We're not betting over a girl. Especially that girl."

"So you're not going to compete for her, then?”

"We are not competing for her," I reply. "And if we were, I'd be leagues ahead of you anyway."

"Because you're going to go hang out with her at your ranch."

"Because I don't have some kind of weird need to seduce her with blow-up dolls," I say. "And yeah, because I'm going to go hang out with her at my ranch. Alone.”

“You mean with a million kids running around? At the ranch you just told her you donated because you were doing her a favor? The same ranch she just told you that you could stick up your ass?”

"Yeah, the ranch that - oh, screw you, Aiden," I grumble. "We're professional football players. There are plenty of girls throwing themselves at us on a daily basis. We don't need to go after the same damn woman."

I turn to storm out of the kitchen, every part of me on edge. Fuck this and fuck him. I don't need to compete with him when it comes to a woman. What I need to do is worry about negotiating a contract and staying out of trouble. Laying low is my priority. Chasing after the President's daughter is the opposite of laying low – and it's profoundly stupid. It's the last thing on earth I need to do if I take my career seriously. And I take my football career very seriously.

"So that means you're definitely not interested in her, then?" Aiden calls after me.

"Not talking about this anymore, Aiden."

"That's what I thought," he says, laughing. "All right, then. May the best man win."

I storm upstairs. There's no way on Earth that Aiden Jackson is the best man for a woman like Grace Sullivan.

And you think you are?

I try to shove the thought out of my head, even as I hit a session at the gym. But Aiden's words still linger, replaying over and over on a loop. “May the best man win.”

This isn’t a competition. That girl is mine.

"Do I need to search you?" the Secret Service agent asks the question, her expression cold.

"Do you usually search people who have meetings with Ms. Sullivan?" I ask. I actually don't know the answer to that question. Maybe the agents do search everyone Grace Sullivan comes into contact with at the foundation. I feel a sudden pang of sympathy for her. That would be a hell of an awkward way to go through your life, with everyone around you being patted down before they even get close to you. But I guess she’d probably be used to it by now.

The agent raises her eyebrows, the rest of her face unmoving. "She doesn't usually meet with people who have been involved in public incidents with her."

Heavy emphasis on the words “public incidents”. As if I was going to forget what happened at the charity event – or in front of my house, although that really was Aiden's fault, not mine.

I don't point out the fact that I don't exactly have an appointment with Grace.

It's too late, because her secretary notices that for me. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ashby. I just don't have you in her appointment books. But I'd be happy to pencil you in for –"

The office door swings open before the secretary finishes speaking and Grace Sullivan stands in the middle of the door. She's wearing a conservative suit – a plain black jacket and skirt with a white Oxford shirt – with her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. On anyone else, it would look businesslike – professional and unflattering, even. But the suit seems to be made for Grace Sullivan, cut to cling to her hourglass figure, the stark color of the suit somehow managing to set off the green in her eyes.

When she sees me, those green eyes go wide for half a second and her lips fall open slightly. I think I hear her inhale sharply, but those are the only reactions of surprise she exhibits before her jaw clenches and a veil of disinterest falls over her face.

"Noah Ashby." Her tone is frosty. "I'm surprised to see you here. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than do me any favors by dropping by the foundation."

Okay, so she definitely hasn't forgotten about what I said. I clear my throat, suddenly self-conscious in front of her secretary and the Secr

et Service agents, far too aware that I was a shithead, telling her I was doing her a favor by donating the ranch. I came across as a spoiled celebrity, one of those assholes who demand a dressing room with only blue M&Ms in the candy dish.

"Wait. I know I don't have an appointment, and you probably have other things to do." Probably? Of course she has other things to do. She runs a foundation. "Shit. I don't mean ‘probably’. You definitely have other things to do. But I wanted to come here and apologize."

Grace raises her eyebrows. Okay, she's definitely not having any of the apology.

I clear my throat. Fuck, this is embarrassing. I can't remember the last time I apologized for something. "I know, you're probably wondering what exactly I’m apologizing for. Am I apologizing for the comment about doing you a favor? Or the whole blow-up doll incident? Or the ”

Grace's face pales. "You know, outside of my office isn't really the place for –"

Her assistant clears her throat. "Ms. Sullivan, if you'd like, I can pencil Mr. Ashby in for another time."

"I didn't mean to come in here and talk about blow-up dolls."

I think I hear the Secret Service agent chuckle, but Grace's face flushes pink. I can't tell if she's mad. Are her nostrils flaring?

"Stop talking," she says, her voice tight.

"Shit. None of that came out right. I'm really not normally an idiot, even though I seem to be when I'm around you." I exhale heavily. "You know what? Yes. Pencil me in for another time."

"Excellent, Mr. Ashby. If I can just –"

Grace's expression softens as she looks at me, and she puts her hand up, stopping the secretary. "Janice, could you hold my next appointment?"

"Ms. Sullivan, you know how –"

Grace gives her a look. "Just for a few minutes."

"Absolutely, ma'am."

I follow her into her office and start talking as soon as the office door closes behind me, oblivious to anything else. "Look, I'm man enough to apologize when I say something out of bounds.” I don't know why, but I'm driven by a need to have this girl not think I'm a total moron – or a narcissistic celebrity jackass – even though I seem to wind up acting like both when I'm around her. “And I don't know why I said I was doing you a favor by donating the ranch, because it's not true..."

"Noah, I think you should know that –"

“Grace.” I cut her off before she can continue because I know that if I don't spit my apology out right now, I'm going to be so distracted by the fact that she's standing here less than a foot away from me, looking up at me the way she's doing right now with her wide eyes and plump, perfectly kissable lips, and… Oh hell, what was I doing again? That's right. I was apologizing. "You're really doing me a favor, letting me donate the ranch. I need the good publicity."

Shit. Why did I say that?

I do need the good press, that's true. It's why my agent suggested I do something with a charity right now. But my ranch is my refuge during off-season. I can count on one hand the number of visitors I've had there. Even Aiden knows not to bug me when I go there to hide out. When I found out about the summer camp that Grace's foundation runs, I wanted to do it because it was a cool cause.

Except now this girl thinks I'm an asshole who only cares about his public image.

Grace blanches. "The good publicity. Right. You're up for contract renewal. Of course."

"That's not what I meant, exactly. Fuck, I'm not saying what I mean here."

"It's okay," she says. "Aiden already explained."

"Explained what?" Aiden talked to her already?

Grace's cheeks flush pink, giving her this glow that automatically makes me think of sex. Hell, everything about this girl makes me think about how much I want my hands on her.

"I explained that you're in the middle of negotiating contracts." Aiden steps into view from where he's apparently been standing on the other side of the office.

What the hell is he doing here?

"So you explained that I'm donating the ranch to help my contract negotiations?" I have to ball my hands into fists at my side to keep from slugging Aiden. I swear, if he weren't my best friend, he'd be dead right now. The best friend part of things is beginning to be questionable, too.

"He didn't say that, exactly," Grace says, smiling at Aiden. When she looks at him, it sends a rush of possessiveness through me. "He explained that the ranch is really important to you and that it was a big deal for you to donate it for the summer."

"Did you?” I ask, my voice flat. I don't like the fact that he and Grace have been in here talking, and I like it less that Aiden had time with her to explain my motives for anything.

"Well, not really. I told her you're basically a hermit with no social skills, and that you don't let anyone near your ranch."

I glare at Aiden, until Grace looks at me. When her eyes meet mine, I swear there's something between us, the same magnetic pull I felt that night at the charity event when I nearly pressed my lips to hers. "I'm not a hermit," I say lamely.

A smile tugs at the edges of Grace's lips. "It's okay. I completely overreacted. The real truth is, you are doing me a huge favor by donating the ranch – and your time - and the foundation is grateful for it." Her face colors again. "I'm really grateful for it. Personally, I mean. If you are donating your time. I don't mean to assume that you're still interested in showing up at the camp – or that you were even interested in donating your time to begin with before my father put you on the spot."

"I told her you may not have time, what with all of your other obligations," Aiden interrupts.

"My other obligations?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"Aiden explained how busy you are with training ”

"I’m not." I glare at Aiden. "Although I appreciate Aiden looking out for my time commitments."

Aiden grins. "No problem, man. Don't mention it. I told her I'd be happy to donate my time in your place."

"That's shocking." If Aiden thinks for one second that I’m going to let him cock-block me and make a move on this girl at my own ranch, he doesn’t know me at all.

Grace's brow furrows. "If there's a problem –"

"There's no problem," I insist. "I actually don't have any other commitments that conflict with the summer camp. I'm happy to take a more personal, hands-on approach with the charity."

I look meaningfully at Grace, whose eyes widen. She takes a corner of her lip between her teeth and in that moment, I know she's thinking about what happened between us. Aiden has no chance with her. I watch her swallow hard. "Um, yes. Right. Your contributions – both of your contributions – are extremely generous."

"Well, both of us are really good at being hands-on," Aiden adds, winking.

Then Grace looks at him and does the lip-biting thing again. The fact that she does it when she looks at Aiden makes me unreasonably annoyed. She moves to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, the gesture self-conscious, even though there's not a single hair out of place. "Um. Hands-on. Both of you. Exactly. So…" She clears her throat and takes a deep breath, her expression settling into one that's completely professional, her tone businesslike. "The kids would really respond to two famous athletes spending any time at all with them. It would be a great way of kicking off the inaugural camp session and I think it might encourage other athletes or celebrities to get involved, too."

"So it's settled. Two weeks at the ranch," Aiden says.

"Two weeks?" Grace asks. "Oh, no. I didn't expect that you would be there for the entire time. I figured you could show up and give them a motivational speech, or sign some autographs. Most celebrities donate just a couple of hours or so to charities like this."

"Are you going to be there for the full two weeks?" Aiden asks.

"I always go to the first camp of the summer," Grace says.

"Then I'll be there. I'm highly motivated to provide a personal touch," Aiden says, grinning.

That grin makes me want to punch him. He thinks I'm going to let him spend two weeks at my ra

nch alone with Grace? He's out of his damn mind. I clench my jaw as I speak. "Two weeks? No problem. I'll be there too."

"Um. Okay. Well, I didn't expect –" She looks down at the ground before taking another breath and making eye contact with us again. "The fact that both of you are willing to donate your time for two entire weeks is… generous. Really generous."

"It's for the children," Aiden says piously.