Lyric and Lingerie (Fort Worth Wranglers 1)

“That is so not true.” He watched her, looking for signs that she was joking. But she was dead serious. He knew there were more than two kinds of people in the world, because Lyric was in a league all her own. “You’re the coolest person I know.”

He really hadn’t meant for his voice to go up so that it kinda sounded like a question, but he had all kinds of thoughts and feelings bombarding him right now. Thoughts and feelings that had very little to do with friendship or football or anything but how much he cared about Lyric.

She didn’t know that though, and as she unlinked her fingers from his, he knew he’d made a tactical error. “Thanks, but I know exactly who I am and where I fit in. And I’m okay with it.”

It didn’t sound like she was okay with it.

“I’m okay with it …” She uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again. Her stripper high-heeled leopard shoes really showcased her fantastic legs. Her left foot wiggled a mile a minute as she sucked in her bottom lip. “Most of the time.”

He had a feeling that something else was going on here. This wasn’t about being popular.

“You never did tell me why you are wearing those.” He pointed to the shoes.

If memory served, Lyric was more of a jeans and Converse kinda girl.

“Cocktail party from hell.” She smoothed a wrinkle out of her boxers. “My ex was there with his new fiancée.” She wouldn’t make eye contact. “I thought wearing a little black dress would make him think twice about his new life with Mistress Kailana.”

She didn’t sound sad as much as she sounded broken, like her confidence had been torn to shreds just like her little black dress. “Who’s Mistress Kailana?”

“Rob’s fiancée. He’s known her all of two months.” She pulled at a loose string on the hem of the boxers. “She’s an astrologist.” The last sentence sounded a lot like “she’s a crack whore.”

“How long were the two of you together?” He really didn’t want to know. This man had hurt Lyric, which meant he was an asshole. Lyric didn’t deserve an asshole. She deserved someone who understood her quirky sense of humor and her need to spout facts as a means of self-soothing. Not to mention someone who thought her double Ds and mile-long legs were the sexiest things he’d ever seen.

“A little over two years.” She slipped her feet out of her high heels and massaged her right pinky toe. “Why do cute shoes always have to hurt?”

“It’s a mystery. But after the day you’ve had, you deserve a foot massage.” Gently, he picked up both of her bare feet and settled them onto his lap. He started with the arch of her left foot and worked his way from her heel to her toes and then back down again. Little by little, inch by inch, he felt her body relax. And since he’d spent his life knowing when to hold onto the ball and when to pass it, he asked, “Want to tell me about Rob?”

He needed to know if she’d ever loved him. Or worse, if she still did. Had that little astrology-loving creep broken her heart?

All of the tension in her body had migrated over to his. He didn’t know Rob, but he wanted to kick the little weasel’s ass, then use him as a hood ornament in the closest demolition derby before kicking his ass again.

“He has PhDs in both astronomy and astrophysics. We met at work.” Lyric leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “You are really good at that.”

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to growl. So lover boy was smart. Heath really couldn’t compete with smart. He was no dummy, but he was no Lyric. Not by a long shot.

He gritted his teeth as he pictured Lyric bouncing on top of some Coke-bottle-glasses-wearing, no-muscle-tone-having, elbow-patch-jacket-wearing professor type. Of course that was who she’d go for. Of course that was who she’d want. Not a washed-up quarterback without a future whose idea of higher math was balancing his very big checkbook.

He moved to her right foot.

What would it take for her to look twice at him?

He wasn’t an idiot. Christ, he had an MBA from LSU, but he wasn’t Lyric smart or goddamn Rob smart. Fuck it, he could run circles around Rob. He was willing to bet ole Robby-boy didn’t know a trap drill from a fire drill.

“Ouch.” Lyric flinched. “That’s too hard.”

“Sorry.” He eased up, told himself to cool off.

Lyric sucked on her bottom lip again. He knew it was her thoughtful pose, and he’d seen her do it a thousand times through the years. Why the hell hadn’t he ever noticed how sexy it was when they were in high school? He’d been an idiot, obviously. Because right now, there were few things in life he wanted more than to suck on her full bottom lip for a while.

She did it again, and he nearly groaned. Make that one thing. Only one thing he wanted more than to suck on Lyric. And when her tongue darted out to lick that lip, he knew kissing her was running a very close second.

“I think I always knew he was a jerk,” she finally said. It might have been the only thing she could have said that would get his attention away from that sinful, luscious mouth of hers. He would pay good money to watch her eat a popsicle or a lollipop … or, well … he could think of several things he’d love to watch her suck on.

“Yeah? So why’d you date him?” Not that he hadn’t dated some women who were less than Lyric quality simply because they had some very obvious … uh … charms, but somehow he’d expected better of her. But when she shot him a look, brows lifted, he wondered if maybe he was wrong. “So, uh, Rob the Knob had a very big … knob, huh?”

He choked a little saying it. Not because he was squeamish about the size of ano

ther man’s dick. He was secure enough in his own that he didn’t have any need to overcompensate. But he sure as hell didn’t like the idea of Rob’s knob being anywhere near Lyric’s luscious mouth—or any other part of her, for that matter.