Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

My agent’s name flashed across the screen, and I swiped to answer the call.

“Hey, Eden,” I said as I unlocked my car.

“Hey, Hud,” she answered.

“Well, you don’t sound pissed off, so that’s a good sign for whatever reason you’re calling me.” I threw my bag into the back of the G-Wagon and shut the hatch.

“I don’t only call you when I’m pissed,” she reprimanded.

“Yeah. You do.” She was a ball-buster, which was why I’d chosen her when presented with a plethora of agent options. It had jack and shit to do with the fact that she was beautiful, and everything to do with the ferocity with which she promised to go after my contract negotiation.

And damn, she’d always gotten me a sweet deal, which was why I always recommended her to everyone I cared about.

“Whatever. Listen. I got a call from Langely—”

I groaned. The Sharks’ resident PR rep was a giant pain in my ass, and enough to make me consider just hiring my own like some of the other guys had.

“Oh, stop,” Eden sighed. “Anyway, she’s really happy that you’ve kept your face out of the tabloids since the incident outside of Connor’s.”

“Well, yay.” I climbed into my car and cranked the ignition. Damn, it was hot in here. The weather was unseasonably warm for this time of year.

“You know you already scored that endorsement deal with Center Ice, but there are a couple of other fish that have been swimming, looking for a bite. But, your lack of media presence is...difficult for them.”

“I’m not doing interviews, Eden. Never have. Never will.”

“Oh, come on! The Dorsal Club is an amazing piece of PR. Why won’t you just do a little media spot to promote it?”

My stomach turned.

“And use those kids to raise my media profile? Thank you, no.”

“Not exactly. Maybe consider doing one about why those programs are important to you. You sank millions into that facility, and it should do something for you.”

“It has,” I seethed, pulling out of the parking lot.

“You know what I mean. I’m on your side. I’m not saying to parade one of the kids on camera. I’m talking about showing that you’re more than just the Shark’s bruiser. If you don’t want to, I completely support you and always have. I know you’re a private person. But I took a call today, and I really think you’d be an amazing fit…”

She trailed off, and my hands gripped the wheel.

I loved Eden, but every once in a while, the money came first, which was her job, and I had to remind her that the money didn’t really mean shit to me.

My mom was taken care of—set for life with everything I’d invested for her during my first few seasons.

My brother...hell, Maddox was set all on his own accord.

I had enough money to live the rest of my life comfortably. It was ethics and morals that spoke to me, and nothing else.

“Just say it, Eden. What call did you take?”

She sucked in a breath, which had my jaw locking.

“Look, I know you’re private about your past. I get it. But the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence really needs a spokesman, and you would be—”

“No.”

I hung up the phone and almost threw it before I remembered how much that damn thing cost. I might have a shit ton of money, but wasting it was an asshole move.

Fuck that.

That is the reason I avoid the media.

My past was just that...mine. And I wasn’t bringing my mom into the spotlight, or my brother. My story wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t anything special. I wasn’t anything inspiring. I was a fucking cautionary tale.

My index finger rubbed at the scar that bisected my eyebrow—something that always seemed to happen when I was confronted with my past. With what put it there.

How the fuck could Eden even think I would want to expose my mom like that? She was even more private than I was. There was nothing I could add to the conversation that would help, and the cost-to-benefit ratio just wasn’t there.

It never was when my mom was a cost.

My phone rang again, and I hit the receive button on my steering wheel. “No, Eden. There’s zero fucking chance I’m going to do it, so just forget about it. My mom is off limits, and so is whatever story I have that involves her. Understand?” My voice was raised by the time I finished.

“Um. Well…”

Shea’s voice filled my car, and I could have kicked myself for not looking at the damned caller ID before picking up.

“Shea?” I asked, lowering my voice.

“Yeah, I’m guessing this is a bad time?” Her voice softened. “You sound...occupied.”

“Nope, just thought you were my agent calling back after I hung up on her. I wasn’t polite about it.” I turned onto the street that led to the penthouse, navigating traffic with ease.

“Oh. Have to admit, I was curious as to who Eden was,” she admitted.

That brought the corners of my mouth upward. “Jealous?”

“What? Me? No. I have nothing to be jealous of. Sheesh.”

I laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. So what’s up, Shea?”

“I’ve got a roast in the oven, which is pretty much the only thing I can make well, and it should be done in about thirty minutes if you wanted to come over for dinner?” Her voice pitched higher with every word until she was almost squeaking.

I pulled over into my street-side space in front of my building. It was something I never used, always choosing to park beneath the building, but Shea had stumped me.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure. I mean, Elliott is going to be here, of course, if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

God, she sounded nervous. Flustered. Not like Elliott’s mom calling her Big to coordinate a meetup. She sounded...like a woman, inviting a man to dinner, and there was a huge difference.

“That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking, but a little. Are you asking me over as Elliott’s Big? Or as…”

The only reason I knew she hadn’t hung up were the breaths I heard on the other end. Shaky, but steady.

“Shea?” I prompted. I’d take whatever she wanted to give, but I needed a baseline to know where I stood.

“Just come over, Porter. Have dinner. Hang out. The rest will just...sort itself out, right?”

She sounded so damn hopeful, but I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of rejection tingle down my spine. How was it that the one woman I wanted, the one I was borderline obsessed with, didn’t want me?

Or rather, wouldn’t let herself want me. I’d felt her want, her pure desire when I’d kissed her. Felt her pulse pound, her heart gallop, her breath come in those short, breathy gasps. Her legs had wrapped around me, pulled me close, and her hips had rolled into mine with pure, sensual abandon.

Yeah, her body was on board.

Her mind? Not so much.

“Porter?”

Just once, I wanted to hear her call me Hudson. To see past the name on the back of my jersey, the reason I’d been hired, the punches I’d thrown both professionally and off the record. I wanted her to see me.

“Let me shower, and I’ll be right over,” I answered. Because the truth was, I would take whatever scraps she was willing to give until she saw past my size, my job, my past.

We hung up, and I pulled off the fastest shower my apartment had ever seen. I grabbed a pair of jeans, worn concert tee, threw a hat on backward and headed out the door. Passing the other cars I owned, I climbed back into my car. There was no need for Shea to freak out over material shit. That would only widen the already gaping chasm between us on her perceived income difference scale.

Within a half hour of her call, I was at her apartment, climbing three flights of stairs. My quads screamed from my earlier workout, but I told them to shut up. It was just another workout, right? And those never hurt.

What hurt was seeing a small, elderly woman carrying

a bag up those same stairs.

“Ma’am?” I asked softly, hoping I wouldn’t scare her. “May I help you with those?”

Her head snapped back to see me coming up behind her on the second flight. Her shrewd gaze looked me up and down, instantly appraising my threat level.

“I’m Hudson Porter. I’m in the building to see Shea Lansing and Elliott,” I answered her unspoken question.

Her eyes widened. “Wilma. Here,” she said, thrusting the paper bag at me. “They’re my next-door neighbors. Good girls. Funny thing, Shea didn’t mention knowing a hunk like you.”

I’d never been one for blushing, but I almost did. Instead, I took the bag in one arm and offered her my other.

Shea opened her door as I got Wilma to her door, which was across the hall from Shea.

“This one is a keeper,” Wilma told Shea. “He’s kind. You need that. Plus, great ass.”