A Perfect Ten (Forbidden Men 5)

“Well, you should, you know. He taught me how to do this.” The kid glanced up in time to watch me spin the tip of the football on the top of my index finger.

His eyes lit up. “Cool.”

“I know, right?” I flipped the ball into the air and caught it with one hand behind my back. “Head over there and get ready to catch this.” After he followed my instructions, I called, “You want to know how awesome Noel was at football?” I lobbed the ball his way.

He scrambled but was able to catc

h it against his chest. “How awesome?” he asked as he jetted it back.

I snagged the ball from the air before it slammed into my knee. “He was so awesome that he could launch a football forty yards while running away from a horde of linebackers bearing down on him in below zero weather with five seconds left on the clock while we were three points behind, and he’d still manage to win us the game.”

I continued to wow him with highlights from Gam’s college years on the field. He started to get better with his throwing and catching as he listened, and he even asked more questions, growing increasingly curious about this mysterious big brother of his.

Twilight was beginning to fall when someone else joined us, walking around the side of the house into the backyard and lifting a hand to wave hello.

I frowned, wondering who the hell this preppy, conceited-looking dipshit was. “Can we help you?” I asked, instantly suspicious.

When Colton turned and saw him loitering at the edge of the yard, recognition lit the dude’s eyes. He stepped toward Colton. “Hey there, little guy. Do you remember me?”

Instead of answering, the kid bolted to me. I caught him by the shoulder and protectively pulled him against my side. Then I set my hand on his head to reassure him. Instantly not liking whoever this douche was upsetting him, I said, “You know he’s nine, right? Not two.” But seriously, who talked to a nine year old like that, giving him the baby voice and even trying to crouch down to his level? Fucker was fishy if you asked me.

The stranger sent me an irritated glance before asking, “Are you Noel?”

I snorted. “Do I look like a fucking Gamble to you?”

He shrugged. “Like I would know. None of you have the same dad, do you?”

Yeah, I really did not like this nut sack. There was just something about his prissy, arrogant attitude and Abercrombie and Fitch clothes that pissed me off.

That’s when the back door swung open and Brandt strolled out. “Hey, I heard you guys were playing…” His voice trailed off when he saw the visitor. “You,” he snarled as he balled his swinging hand into a fist and stalked forward. “I owe you a black eye for the one you gave me, asswipe.”

As he swung, I easily caught his arm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I chided mildly. “No one’s punching anyone until I know what’s going on. Now someone get me up to speed.” I snapped my fingers. “And go.”

“He’s Sander Scotini,” Brandt said.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. I turned to stare at the guy who’d messed up Caroline’s life. I wanted to laugh. This puny little pipsqueak was Sander Scotini? And then suddenly I wanted to punch him. This puny little pipsqueak was Sander Scotini?

“Oh, is he?” I murmured.

When Brandt tried to move toward him again, I blocked him one more time, stepping easily in his path so I could face off with good ol’ Sander myself. “Why don’t you let me take care of this one?” When I met the fucker’s gaze, I smiled widely and gave him a chin bob. “Hey there.”

I knew my almost-flirty greeting skeeved him out. He sent me one of those untrusting scowls and edged a step back.

Good. I liked unsettling him.

“What brings you by, Sander?” I asked, strolling casually his way. “A little far from home, aren’t you?”

He sent a nervous glance toward the house, but he must’ve known he wasn’t getting anywhere near it until he went through me. With a sigh, he scratched the back of his neck. “I need to talk to Caroline.”

I shook my head and bunched up my mouth as if I had to think about that. Then I said, “No. You really don’t.”

The idiot puffed up his chest—all twenty centimeters of it—and lifted that prissy combed eyebrow of his. “I came all this way to talk to her, so I’m going to talk to her. I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

Oh, game on, bitch. “Gladly.”

I grabbed the front of his pink—yes, pink—collared, polyester shirt and flung him around until I’d slammed his back against the side of the house. Then I pinned his windpipe in place with my forearm and lifted my eyebrows in challenge. The gurgling sound that came from his throat as he floundered helplessly was music to my ears. It must’ve freaked Colton out, though, because he yelped in fear and raced for the back door of the house.

Brandt, on the other hand, bounced on his toes, his eyes lighting with delight before he murmured an awed-sounding, “Cool.”