Christmas Break Read online

  Seattle Lumberjacks: The Rookies

  Christmas Break

  Jami Davenport

  Copyright 2013 Pamela D. Bowerman

  Smashwords Edition

  Christmas Break

  As a college football star and a waitress stave off cold loneliness through one hot holiday break, a passion begins that will carry them both all the way into the NFL.

  Seattle Lumberjacks: The Rookies

  Christmas Break

  Jami Davenport

  www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

  CHRISTMAS BREAK

  Copyright © 2013 Pamela D. Bowerman

  All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

  Digital edition created by Maureen Cutajar

  www.gopublished.com

  ISBN 978-1-938876-82-0

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1. Game Plan

  Chapter 2. Pre-Christmas Eve

  Chapter 3. Burger Bender

  Chapter 4. Night before Christmas

  Chapter 5. Gifting

  Chapter 6. Unwrapped

  Chapter 7. Tattoo Fantasy

  Chapter 8. Christmas Present

  Chapter 9. Magic

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Game Plan

  Braxton

  First and foremost, I am a football player. Football has defined me since I first held a ball in my chubby toddler hands. It defines me today, and it’ll define me tomorrow. Life without football is simply not possible.

  My dad says my game plan is shortsighted, that the average length of an NFL career is three and a half years—if I make it to the NFL. But I’m making it. Not only am I making it; I’m going to do better than make it. I don’t believe in aiming low. Mom and Dad should know that. After all, they’ve drummed those very words into my head all of my life. Aim high.

  On the outside looking in, you’d think my family is too perfect. There has to be a fatal flaw, some big hole in our Brady Bunch–lifestyle. I can tell you right now: There isn’t. Truly. As the baby of the clan, I’m following behind a sister who’s in med school and a brother who does cancer research at Fred Hutchinson, and regardless of my choice of a less daunting academic path—I’m a communications major—my parents have always supported me, even in sports, though it isn’t their thing. Did I mention that my dad is a cardiologist at the University of Washington hospital? And my mom is a family practitioner for a GMO. You can see where I might have a little issue with not being viewed as being as smart as the rest of them.

  My problem, not theirs. I chose my path.

  That’s why I wasn’t going home for Christmas this year, though. I couldn’t take listening to them talk about medicine ad nauseam with me as the odd man out. I was staying here in this small college town in Eastern Washington near the Idaho border. I had a good reason, sorta. My team was playing in a bowl game that weekend and we had practices all week. Coach gave us Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off with our next practice starting about two p.m. on the twenty-sixth. Plenty of time for me to make it home, but my parents didn’t know that.

  When I walked out of practice on the evening of the twenty-third after saying goodbye to my teammates, an odd melancholy mood descended over me. My frat was deserted except for me, and no food service was available. I had the munchies worse than a pot-smoker at two a.m. I don’t smoke the stuff, by the way, my body being a temple and all that crap, even though it’s legal now in the state of Washington.

  Maybe I should’ve accepted Mike’s offer to go home to Spokane with him, but I just didn’t feel like hanging with any family, even my own. I’d broken up with my cheerleader girlfriend around Thanksgiving, and I was still getting over her. We’d been together since last year. I’d had a few one-nighters but not much since, and I was lonely for company that didn’t reek of testosterone and beer.

  My feet carried me to the Grizzly Den, a local watering hole I’d been to a couple times since I turned twenty-one a few months ago. I sat down at the counter in the nearly deserted bar and opened a menu, scanning the hamburger choices. A curvy waitress with tattoos peeking out from the long sleeves of her black shirt sauntered over. My eyes travelled the tourist route to get to her face, starting at a pair of short biker boots with wicked heels, moving up a nice pair of thighs, rounded hips, and a bit of tattooed skin with a navel ring exposed between her low-slung jeans and her tight black, long-sleeved shirt.

  My gaze stalled at her tits. They were incredible. I’ve always been a tits man. She wasn’t the tall, willowy type I usually go for, but her compact little body packed a lot of feminine muscle and plenty of curves, which I definitely liked. Maybe a change of pace was in order.

  She cleared her throat and tapped her pencil on my arm. Embarrassed but scrambling to hide it, I shot her my signature babe-melting grin.

  She didn’t melt, swoon, or even crack a smile. Tough, this one. She was going to make me work for it. I liked that.

  Damn, but she was beautiful—in a street-smart sort of way. Thick, gorgeous reddish-brown hair tied in a ponytail tumbled down her back in sexy disarray. I itched to loosen the band and feel her hair slide across my body as she rode me into oblivion. Hey, I’m a young, athletic, horny guy, and she was one hot woman. Even better, she didn’t fall at my feet and worship the turf my cleats trod on. Instead she glared at me with disdain and suspicion. I leaned back against the ratty booth and fingered a torn piece of vinyl, just like I wanted to be fingering her.

  Her sweet face contradicted her sinner’s body. She had this flawlessly pale skin and huge, expressive green eyes. Right now those eyes were expressing a lot, most of it not good, at least not as far as her opinion of me.

  She tapped her pencil on the Formica table, and a yellow butterfly perched on a pink flower peeked out from beneath her shirt sleeve. I wanted to see more. A lot more. I wondered if those tattoos went up her arm, across her chest, and down to her crotch. Had her entire body been a canvas for a tattoo artist? Oh, yeah, I wondered. The women I’d dated might have a subtle tattoo here or there, but nothing like what I suspected hid under those clothes.

  “What can I get you?” Her voice vibrated with a husky sexuality, like she’d smoked too many packs of cigarettes.

  I pried my tongue from the roof of my mouth and attempted casual conversation. “I’ll have a beer and a bacon cheeseburger with fries. Everything on it.”

  “ID.” She held out her hand, sounding all bored and sexy and floating in attitude.

  I whipped out my wallet and flipped it open. She eyed it, eyed me, eyed it again. I waited for recognition to cross her beautiful face. You’d have to be dead or a hermit not to know my name around this place, even if you aren’t a football fan.

  Nothing. Without comment,
she scribbled my order on a worn pad and sashayed toward a table of customers who were getting ready to leave, her hips swinging and her ass beckoning me to follow.

  Not that she actually wanted me to follow her ass or her, which both intrigued me and turned me on. Women fall at my feet, strip off their clothes and give me whatever I want in any position I want it. But not this girl. Her disinterest challenged me, and as a competitive guy, I rarely back down from a challenge.

  I wasn’t about to start.

  Chapter 2

  Pre-Christmas Eve

  Aubrey

  Oh my God, Braxton Davis. The Braxton Davis.

  The most popular guy on campus, star of the football team, and more gorgeous at close range than he looked across the lecture hall or on the football field. He’d walked in the door as if he owned the place and sauntered across the room with the powerful grace of a panther on the prowl. Six-foot-four with a mane of dark, wavy hair, sexy stubble, and piercing turquoise blue eyes, he towered over my five-foot-two height.

  I couldn’t believe he’d come into my bar when every other student had scattered to the four corners of the state days ago. I knew why I wasn’t going home for Christmas, but what was his story?

  It had been so dead, Marta went home. That meant I was alone in the bar with him—not that he worried me. I could hold my own with guys a lot scarier than Braxton, even though he stared intently as if I was going to be his midnight snack.

  Of course, not a glimmer of recognition showed on his face, even as he stripped me with his eyes. As seniors in communications, we’d shared more than one class together over the past few years, but Braxton always sat in the back of the classroom or lecture hall and hung with his buddies, while I sat in the front like the good student I was—even though I don’t look the part. But, hey, I ditched the nose ring, kept my tats covered, and tried to fit in.

  To prevent myself from going all fan-girl on the arrogant ass, I shifted into my normal mode of self-protection by copping an attitude. Unfortunately, if the spark in his eyes was any indication, my act might’ve backfired. Obviously, the man wasn’t used to a woman not going all gaga over him, and my feigned disinterest seemed to fascinate him. I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Well, guess what, Mr. Big Man on Campus? If you don’t recognize me, then I’m not recognizing you.

  Walking behind the bar, I poured a beer and pushed it across to him. When he reached for it, our fingers touched. A little shiver of sexual excitement slid up my spine.

  I stared at my smaller hand next to his large one, mesmerized. Braxton coughed. I looked up and blinked a few times. His dark eyebrows climbed up his forehead to hide in his shaggy hair, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  I snapped out of my fog and jerked my hand away. “I’ll get that food right out to you.”

  He was so gorgeous, an unwanted smile threatened to ruin my scowl, but obviously, Braxton had no such reservation about smiling. His sexy lips tipped up, revealing straight white teeth, the kind only money could buy. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

  He leaned over the counter and grabbed the remote off the shelf, as if he were sitting in his own living room, then flipped through channels until he found ESPN. I mumbled something totally stupid and ran for the kitchen to cook his burger.

  Damn. I leaned against the wall for a moment and stared at my trembling hands. What the fuck? Guys did not make me tremble or run from the room like some scared virgin. This was so not me.

  My phone played Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop”, my text message tone. I pulled it out of my pocket with one hand while I slapped a patty and bun on the grill. The text was from a number I didn’t recognize.

  Slut. Just try getting a job in this town.

  This could not be happening. Not after all this time. My heart climbed up my throat, and I stopped breathing. With a shaking hand, I tapped on the picture to enlarge it.

  Oh, my God. No.

  The phone fell from my fingers and clattered on the floor, but I didn’t give a damn if it broke or not. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. I’d hoped the pictures were gone, disappeared into cyberspace. I should’ve known better.

  Drawing my knees up to my chest, I felt a big sob rise inside me. Not just because of the damning picture on my phone, but because I was all alone in the world with no one in my corner. I missed the one person who would’ve cared, the one who always made me laugh and hugged me tight to make it all better. And missing her, knowing I’d never get a chance to talk to her again, hurt worse than anything any fucking picture.

  My chest tightened and my throat closed up. You’d think after five years it wouldn’t hurt like it happened yesterday, but it was almost Christmas, and Christmas had been Mom’s favorite time of year. I clutched at my throat and pulled my collar away from my neck. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and gasped for air. Sobs were wrenched from my chest, as if some invisible hand had reached down and yanked them out.

  “Are you okay?”

  A deep voice laced with sincere concern penetrated my brain. Oh my God. I’d totally forgotten about Braxton. I viciously rubbed my eyes with my knuckles.

  “Here, use this.” He knelt down beside me and handed me a paper napkin. I took it from him, dabbing at my face and around my eyes, certain my mascara had run. He stood and reached out. I grasped his big strong hand. His fingers were so long they wrapped completely around mine. He tugged and gently pulled me to my feet.

  I sniffled and gazed up into his concerned blue eyes. Way up.

  “I’m Braxton, but you can call me Brax. All my friends do.” He leaned down, cocking his head, and peered at me. “And you are?”

  “A mess,” I quipped.

  My attempt at a self-deprecating joke didn’t draw a chuckle from him. He continued to stare at me intently.

  “Aubrey. My name is Aubrey. I know who you are.”

  “Most people do,” Brax said. His voice held total honesty, absolute confidence…and not one ounce of conceit. He pried the wrinkled napkin from my fingers and dabbed at my face. “There. That’s better. Christmas sucks when you’re missing people you love.”

  “How did you know that?” I lifted my head.

  Those deep blue eyes, the color of my mother’s hydrangeas, shone with sympathy. He grinned—God, he was gorgeous—and he tapped on the side of his head. “I’m psychic.”

  My expression must have given away my shock, because he laughed, a deep-from-the-belly laugh. A fun laugh.

  “Actually, it’s about as easy to figure out as the fact that you’re burning my hamburger.”

  “Oh, crap. I’m so sorry. So sorry.” Flustered, I stumbled past him, grabbed a spatula and flipped the charred patty and bun into the garbage. “I’ll make you another. On the house.”

  “Sounds good, cuz I really am starved.” He rubbed his flat stomach, and my gaze immediately snapped to his midsection. So not a good idea.

  I wheeled away from the sight of his muscular body, his innate maleness, his chiseled face, and put another burger on the grill. He hovered next to me, so close I could smell the soap he used when he showered. I couldn’t tell if he was hovering because he was a typical male hoping to get some pre-Christmas Eve action or if he didn’t trust me with this second burger.

  The scent of the meat mixed with his clean scent, and suddenly I was hungry enough to out-eat my team’s entire defensive line, and the Grizzly line is pretty freaking huge. I put another burger on for me and threw some fries in the fryer for extra measure, trying to ignore all the male testosterone pouring off his body and infiltrating mine. Mustering my biker-girl stubbornness, I kept my back to him as I prepared our food and finally handed him a plate heaping with fries and a nice thick burger with everything on it.

  His sparkling eyes and wide smile were my reward.

  And what a reward it was.

  Chapter 3

  Burger Bender

  Braxton

  Following Aubrey back to the bar, I s
lid my ass onto the barstool and chowed down. I hadn’t eaten since early that morning and I’d burned a lot of carbs during practice. Keeping an empty stool between us, Aubrey quietly ate her own burger.

  Coming up for air, I swallowed and wiped my mouth with a napkin, not wanting her to think I was a total moron slob. Not that it should matter what she thought. Her earlier breakdown brought out a protective instinct in me. For a tough girl like her to come apart stunned me, and I wanted to beat the living crap out of the asshole who’d put those tears of anguish in her eyes.

  “This was worth waiting for. It’s incredible. What did you put on this burger?” I asked.

  “Old family recipe. I could tell you but…” A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, and her eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “You’d have to kill me.”

  “Something like that.”

  Gone was the vulnerable girl of a few minutes ago. She’d composed herself and locked all the doors and windows on her emotions, effectively keeping me out. Well, honey, hang on, ’cause I’ve got all night and you captivate me.

  “You do look like you could carry it off, tough girl….”

  “Don’t you forget it, Mr. Touchdown.” She rewarded me with what I suspected was a rare smile. It lit up her face and made her ever prettier. She didn’t look so sad when she smiled, and I wanted to make her smile more.

  “Mr. T. I like that.”

  She rolled her eyes and wiped a smidgeon of sauce off the corner of her mouth. Damn, I could’ve gotten that for her—with my tongue.