Double Team

father, and I'm going to have to explain that my neighbor, who has the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy, flew a drone with a blow-up doll dangling from it over my backyard.

But instead of storming off, I just stand there staring at the two men, who are clearly pissed off at each other. Then I glance at Brooks and Davis, who are taking this whole event entirely too seriously. I can see the news reports already: "President's Daughter and Her Sex Drone! Live at Eleven!"

I can’t help it. Laughter begins to bubble up in my chest, overflowing as I try to stifle it by putting my hand over my mouth. There's nothing I can do to contain it. The entire situation – not even this situation, but all of the past encounters I’ve had with Aiden Jackson and Noah Ashby – is ridiculous. But this most recent incident takes the cake. It is absolutely the most insane thing that's ever happened to me. So instead of answering Aiden's question, instead of saying, “Yes, I'm the President's daughter and this is a situation I can't be involved in,” I start giggling. Loudly.

Like a crazy person.

The problem is that once I start, I can't stop. And no one else is laughing. They're just staring at me like they're trying to figure out where they might be able to locate the nearest straitjacket.

"Ma'am?" Brooks asks. "Are you okay?"

"Did you put something in the blow-up doll that's doing this to her?" Davis asks. The fact that she thinks it's plausible I'm laughing because of some kind of chemical weapon makes me laugh even harder.

"You mean, did I fill the doll up with laughing gas?" Aiden asks.

Now, I hoot. Loudly. I think there are tears coming out of my eyes.

"Shut up, dumbass," Davis says, pressing her hand into the middle of his back again for emphasis. "This is the President's daughter you're talking about. You flew a drone into Grace Sullivan's backyard. Why the hell did you think you were getting patted down, anyway?"

"Well, obviously I thought I was being frisked because you saw my junk the other day and wanted a little more personal experience with it–" Aiden starts, but Davis shoves him hard up against the wall. "All right now! That’s getting a little rougher than I usually like it."

"You want to see rough?" Davis asks. "Keep running your mouth."

"Holy shit. This is Hot Neighbor," Noah says. "So you walked out of my house naked in front of the President's daughter??"

"Not entirely naked!" I shriek with laughter. "He had bongos."

"Yeah, I had bongos over my junk," Aiden calls. "Did you just snort?"

I clasp my hand harder over my mouth. "I did not snort!"

"Actually, I think you snorted," Noah says.

"That was a snort, ma'am," Brooks interjects.

"That was not a snort!" I object. "I do not snort when I laugh!"

"Whatever you say, ma'am," Brooks returns.

Then the realization suddenly dawns on me. "Oh my God. Do you two live together?" My mind is spinning. The two hot guys – the two men I fantasized about fucking me at the same time the other night – are standing right in front of me.

Together.

Because they live together.

Oh. Oh, no. I might have misread things. Maybe neither of them are interested in me… because they're interested in each other. Maybe what I mistook for flirting was their idea of humor.

My cheeks flush hot. My face must be bright red. What's redder than red? Whatever that shade is, that's what color my face must be right now. What if they can tell I'm attracted to both of them? Suddenly, I have the illogical thought that my filthy fantasies are somehow written all over my face. What if they know I touched myself thinking about being with both of them at the same time?

I might die of actual embarrassment right here and now.

"We're your new neighbors," Aiden announces.

"Yes, neighbors. You…live together because you're… together." I say, my voice soft. "That…. yeah, totally. Makes sense."

"What??" Noah blurts. "We're not together."

"Wait, you think we're together-together?" Aiden yells.

"I – obviously I misread – um, I – oh, God." I seem to have lost the ability to form a coherent, rational thought.

"Hell, no, I'm not with him," Noah says, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Seriously. You think I'm with that guy?"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Aiden asks. "I'm a fucking catch. You can ask anyone. You're a damn snob who would be lucky to be hooking up with me."

"The guy who didn't know who the President's daughter was?" Noah asks. "Yeah, you're a total keeper. I'd definitely bring you home to meet the parents."

"Oh, screw you. Mama Ashby would be thrilled to have me as a son-in-law," Aiden yells.

I look back and forth between the two of them. "I'm – obviously, I'm in the middle of something here, and I –"

"You're not in the middle of anything," Noah says, his brow furrowed. "Although I can see how this might look like we're –"

"A couple?" Aiden asks.

"We're not a couple," Noah insists.

"That's not what you said last night –" Aiden calls.

"Shut up," Noah growls. "It's not funny. She actually thinks we're a couple. And these Secret Service agents actually think you're a terrorist. What do you think is going to happen when Coach Hardy finds out you've been arrested for domestic terrorism because you threatened the life of the daughter of the President of the United States? You think you're going to keep the contract you just signed once the media gets wind of this shit?"

Suddenly, everyone is silent, including me. I'm definitely not laughing anymore.

"Well, hell," Aiden says. "I wasn't trying to kill you. I was just trying to get you in bed."

"With a blow-up doll? That’s real classy, dude," Noah says, shaking his head.

"Hey, it's the truth," Aiden insists, looking over his shoulder at me. "I mean, obviously I didn't know who you were or I might not have used the blow-up doll. Or the whole ‘She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy’ thing. I'd have tried to class it up a bit more than that."

"'She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy'? Is that why there's a riding lawnmower parked in my yard?" Noah asks.

"Are you two related or something?" I ask.

"They're teammates, ma'am," Brooks says, sighing loudly.

"You both play football," I realize. Why didn't I ask Brooks and Davis for intel on Aiden after I met him? In hindsight, my ignorance seems less like bliss and more like stupidity. "On the same team."

"But we don't play for the same team, if you know what I mean," Aiden says, emphasizing the word play. He pauses for a beat. "We don't fuck each other. In case I wasn't clear."

I choke out a laugh. "Yes, I see."

"I think she got that, Aiden," Noah grumbles. "She's not an idiot."

A sedan drives down the street, slowing momentarily before passing us – one of my neighbors, no doubt - and I look desperately at Brooks. "Please, please, please tell me we can dispense with the whole bomb squad and domestic terrorism investigation?"

"You know that Mrs. Johnson has been poking her head through the curtains on her window for the last few minutes," Aiden says.

"Who?" I ask.

"Mrs. Johnson, your neighbor who lives across the road. She probably has photos already. I helped her set up her social media accounts yesterday so she could see pictures of her grandchildren that her daughter uploaded. She bakes great banana bread."

“Shit, Aiden. Stop getting to know my neighbors,” Noah interjects.

"I'll talk to Mrs. Johnson," Davis says.

"Brooks, this man is obviously not a threat. Do you think we could take all of this away from the front of my house? Or could we at the very least do away with the handcuffs?"

"Wait. Can I keep the handcuffs?" Aiden asks. “I might need them later.”

"Do you want me to have you brought in for questioning?" Davis asks.

"All right, all right. There's no need to get all huffy about it. I get your point." A cocky grin spreads across Aiden's face as Da

vis uncuffs him. "So, you're the girl Noah's all wrapped around the axle about. Does this mean we're both competing for your attention?"

"No one's competing for anything, jackass," Noah growls.

Two hot guys. Vi's words echo in my mind, and for a fleeting moment, the prospect of two of the most attractive men I've ever met being interested in me is appealing.

Then I come to my senses. These might be two of the best-looking men I've ever seen, but they’re also two arrogant football players who have absolutely no regard for appropriate behavior or social decorum. My father would absolutely have a coronary if he knew I were the slightest bit attracted to either one of them.

And I'm not the least bit interested. Really, I'm not. Obviously, my lust-addled brain is confused by the fact that I've not dated anyone in a million years, causing me to have little fantasies about the two men.

I just need to get control of my mind. If there's anything in life that I'm a master of, it's maintaining discipline and control. I'm the daughter of the President, after all. I've lived most of my life in the public eye. The word impulsive is not in my vocabulary.

"You're right. With me here, there's no real competition," Aiden says, gesturing down the length of his body. "Not when she has all this in front of her. You might as well just count yourself out of the running."

Noah rolls his eyes. "I'm sure she's interested in a guy whose idea of romance is flying a blow-up doll into her backyard."

"You mean romance like tearing off her dress and getting photographed grabbing her tits?" Aiden asks.

Noah starts to respond, but I interrupt the bro-argument, annoyed by the increasing amount of testosterone on display. Okay, I might be more annoyed by the very small part of me that might possibly find all of this testosterone slightly attractive, especially since their caveman attitudes are so over the top that they should disgust me. What I need to do is start thinking with my brain and not my hoo-hah.

And my brain is definitely irritated right now. I clear my throat, shoving aside the part of me that’s attracted to them. "Excuse me? I'm pretty sure I get a say in this, since you're discussing me like I'm not even here. And in case you're wondering, I'm not some kind of prize for the two of you to compete over."

"We weren't saying you were a prize, exactly," Noah attempts to clarify.

"But if we were competing, the obvious choice would be me," Aiden notes. “I’m the hot one.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Noah growls.

I don't bother to stifle my groan. "You sent blow-up dolls to my house and then answered your door naked when I brought them back to you."

Aiden grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Yeah, I did."

"And you," I say, pointing at Noah. "You ripped my gown and put your hands on my breasts at a charity event!"

"Well, hell, when you put it that way, it just sounds awkward," Noah answers.

"Actually, it sounds more like assault," Aiden clarifies. “Pretty sure that’s a crime.”

I turn back toward him. "Says the guy who flew a drone into my backyard?"

"Drone makes it sound all nefarious and shit.”

“Big word. Did you get that from a word-of-the-day calendar?” Noah glares at Aiden.

“I’ve learned lots of big words that way,” Aiden says, making a hmph sound. “It was a remote-controlled helicopter, really. An expensive one, but still."

"I feel like we're not presenting our best selves here," Noah notes.

"Speak for yourself," Aiden says. "I'm coming off just fine."

From behind me, Brooks snorts loudly. "If you think this is 'just fine,' I'm curious to see what 'terrible' is."

"Look, sweetheart, I'm doing you a favor by donating my ranch to your charity," Noah grumbles.

"Oh, sure, go for the whole good-guy-donates-to-charity thing," Aiden jabs sarcastically.

I bristle at his words. "Doing me a favor? Well, I guess I should be grateful that you're doing me a favor after groping me in public."

"You asked for that one." Aiden whistles low, raising his eyebrows as he looks at Noah, whose face reddens. "I can't believe you called her sweetheart."

"Says the guy who called me sugar tits on meeting me?"

"In my defense, I didn't know you were the President's daughter."

"Somehow I doubt that would have changed anything." I turn to Noah, my irritation only increasing. "You can keep your favor, and you can keep your ranch. And you can keep your hands-on approach to charity, too, because spending time with you on a ranch, even if it’s for deserving kids, isn’t worth it at all.”

"You’re going to your ranch with her?” Aiden asks. His nostrils flare, and for a second, I think I see a look of possessiveness cross his face. The problem is, instead of turning me off – which is how the logical part of me would react – the expression sends a thrill of arousal rushing through me. But I shake off that feeling, crossing my arms as Noah gives Aiden a look of pure fury.

"Not anymore. Right now, I'm going back into my house where I'm going to have a cup of tea, read the newspaper, and forget all about the fact that two of the most immature men I've ever met have disrupted my life the way they have over the past week."

I don’t wait for a response before turning to walk away, aware that I’m practically flouncing away from two professional athletes with bodies made for sin, both of whom apparently find me attractive. I try not to think about either of them when I go into my empty house and make my cup of tea, or when I flip through the newspaper. I definitely try not to think about the fact that I just threw a bit of a fit and angrily rejected Noah’s donation of his ranch for the summer camp that starts in exactly one week. And I try not to think of the fact that I’m going to have to eat crow and apologize to him in order to get the ranch back.

I totally lost my cool out there and let my temper get the better of me. I can’t remember the last time that happened. I’m usually calm and collected, no matter what, but these two men seem to get me flustered. But honestly, where does Noah Ashby get off with the snide comment about doing me a favor by donating his ranch? After what happened at the charity event, that's certainly the least he could do.

You know that having Noah's hands on your breasts wasn't exactly the worst thing in the world to ever have happened to you.

A tingle of arousal spreads through me at the memory of Noah's warm hands cupping my breasts, at the way my nipples immediately hardened in response to his calloused palms, at the heat that rushed through my body at his touch.

He really was doing you a favor by donating his ranch, and besides, he made the donation before the charity event, which means it had nothing to do with what happened.

Even so, the way he said it – “I was doing you a favor” – got under my skin.

He did pay a hundred thousand dollars to get rid of those photographs.

But getting rid of the photos of Noah groping me was definitely in his self-interest. It was hardly just a gentlemanly gesture. Photos like that could ruin his career, especially if he's trying to stay away from negative press. The thought of those pictures making their way into the newspapers makes me shudder. I can't even imagine the scandal that would cause for me and him - and for my father.

Still, the two of them also talked about competing for me, like I'm some kind of prize at the county fair. The very idea of two men fighting for me is the dumbest, most lame-ass macho thing I've ever heard.

Right. That's exactly why you fantasized about it the other night - because it's just so lame.

I try my best to shove the thoughts out of my head. What I need to do is focus on work. Obsessing over two athletes who seem to have a knack for making me lose my cool is the last thing on Earth I need to be doing.

13

Noah