What You Need (Need You #1) Page 9

  Wasn’t it?

  Or fate, some ridiculously romantic voice trilled inside my head.

  I mentally snarled at it to piss off.

  “Come on.” Kiley nudged me with her shoulder. “Follow my lead, even if it doesn’t make any sense.”

  Right. Last time she said that? I ended up hungover and could barely say the word “kamikaze” without barfing.

  As we approached him, Brady wore that sexy smile and never took his eyes off me.

  My stomach had no reason to turn somersaults.

  “Mr. Lund,” my roommate said when we were ten feet away. “I need you to give Lennox a big hug like you haven’t seen her in weeks. I’ll explain afterward.”

  Brady didn’t miss a beat. He actually closed the last few feet between us and gathered me into his arms. “Good morning, dancing queen.”

  His hard chest was warm and solid against my cheek. And did he have to smell so good? I wrapped my arms around his waist.

  “Here’s the breakdown, Mr. Lund. I’m Kiley Kinslie and I work in the Hennepin County Outreach program. I had no idea the LCCO would send their best and brightest to volunteer. While I’m grateful for it, there are two things we need to address ASAP.”

  “Go on.”

  “First, since you and Lennox know each other, and I don’t need my boys drooling over her, let’s go with the story that you two are in a relationship and that’s why you’re here volunteering. Second, if these kids find out you’re Richie Rich, it’ll be twice as hard to get them to accept you.”

  “Sounds logical and that works for me. How do you know Lennox?”

  “We’re roommates,” I said. I tipped my head back to look at him, but couldn’t quite make my arms release him. “And I don’t see how this will work.”

  “What part?”

  “Any of it. You’re . . .” All that and a bag of supersized chips, baby. “You. You scream da man.”

  “Seriously? As in da man keeping them down?”

  I blushed. Back to insulting him at every turn. Way to go.

  “I’m not a total dumbass, Lennox. I didn’t drive my 7-series BMW here and I’m hardly dressed like a corporate executive.”

  True. He wore loose nylon athletic shorts, a T-shirt and a warm-up jacket. His jaw was covered in dark scruff. In my mind he still managed to look powerful. But I couldn’t admit that, so I went with the other issue. “These kids are street-smart, Mr. Lund. None of them will believe we’re involved.”

  “By all means, Miss Greene. Let’s test that theory.”

  The next thing I knew, his hands were on my hips and he lowered his face to my neck. He settled his warm lips on the pulse point of my throat and then glided his mouth up and down before he eased back to look at me.

  I swayed against him, my fingers digging into his biceps.

  Kiley laughed. “Yeah, they’ll believe it. Let’s get back. Remember, no last names. Also remember they’re kids, so giving us—and each other—shit is their way. Roll with it but always err on the side of less is more. If you find yourselves in a situation out of your comfort zone, let me know.”

  No way would I admit that I was already out of my comfort zone.

  Without waiting for our response, Kiley walked off.

  Brady kept his hand in the small of my back as we followed her. He put his mouth on my ear. “Don’t mess up and call me Mr. Lund, Lennox.”

  “Why are you here? Office gossip indicates that you work six—sometimes seven—days a week.”

  “I’m here because volunteering for causes is what Lunds do, according to my mother. And it was either this or humiliate myself at a bachelor auction.”

  “Why would you humiliate yourself? You’d probably raise thousands of dollars.”

  He chuckled. “You flatter me. I’m the nerdy bean counter, too analytical for most women’s taste, and I’m also a workaholic, so, statistically speaking, I wouldn’t be the top draw.”

  I stopped, forcing him to stop too. “Are you serious or is this some self-deprecating attempt to get me to say something else complimentary about you?”

  “I’m serious.” In a nervous, fidgety movement, he adjusted the Vikings baseball cap on his head. “I prefer to work behind the scenes rather than in the spotlight.”

  That didn’t surprise me. His family name was synonymous with power in the Twin Cities, and he maintained a lower profile than any of his siblings and cousins. But this show of uncertainty did surprise me. The man defined confident.

  Didn’t he?

  Brady curled his hand around the side of my face, his gaze firmly on the left side of my mouth. Then his thumb slid over to stroke my bottom lip. “This lip ring . . . Christ, do you have any idea how much I want to suck on it?”

  The sexy way he growled that sent slow, delicious heat unfurling in my belly.

  “Before the end of the day, Lennox, I’ll know what that metal feels like on my tongue.”

  A tingle shot from his gentle stroking motion on my mouth straight between my thighs.

  “Come on, you two—let’s get a jump on this,” Kiley shouted.

  One of the kids said something and they all laughed.

  Brady smiled. “Let’s do this thang.”

  That phrase sounded all sorts of wrong coming from him, but it charmed me.

  We stopped outside the half circle where Kiley held court.

  “Intros. Everyone, this is Brady. He’s a volunteer. He’s also attached to Lennox, so they’re both off-limits.”

  A chorus of boos broke out.

  Kiley pointed to each kid and introduced them. DeMarius “DeMan,” Willa aka Red, Feisty Maria, Juice. The chubby white kid’s name was Owen, dreadlocks had the un-PC name Tonto, the skinny black kid’s name was Quay, his sister was Needra.

  “Who’s doin’ what?” Tonto demanded. “I came to play ball and we ain’t got enough for one team.”

  “Who all wants to play ball?” Kiley asked.

  Tonto, Juice, DeMan, Quay, Red and Brady’s hands all shot up.

  “Six total. Play three on three,” Kiki suggested.

  “She’s a damn girl,” DeMan complained about Red.

  “A girl who can outshoot you,” she shot back.

  “Prove it.”

  Kiley signaled for time-out. She looked at Brady. “You’re team captain one.” Then she looked at DeMan. “You’re team captain two. You were here first, so you pick first.”

  “Juice.”

  They high-fived.

  Brady pointed at Red. “You.”

  She seemed surprised, but pleased.

  DeMan picked Tonto, which left Quay on Brady’s team.

  “We’ll leave you to it. When you’re done, come over to the wall.”

  The rest of us followed Kiley to the picnic table. She pointed at the brick building. “While dirty words have their place, it’s not on the side of a building. We’re gonna fix that today. So I see two options. One, we paint over the entire side, or we redo the words and incorporate them into some kind of design.

  “The last option,” Owen said. “It won’t be hard to turn the C into an O. Then we can fill it in with whatever we want.”

  “Everyone in agreement?” Kiki asked the others.

  “Owen should be in charge. He’s a great artist,” Maria said.

  Owen blushed.

  Since I was about as artistic as I am athletic, I volunteered to shake up the paint cans and act as the all-around gofer. Which also meant I could watch the basketball game.

  After Brady took off his jacket, revealing muscled arms and a broad chest with pectorals so defined I could actually see the outline of them through his cotton T-shirt, I wished he’d been playing on the skins team.

  And he played with a balance of aggressiveness and teamwork. I’d wondered if he’d be overly competitive, not only because these kids were younger than him, but also because his brother was a professional athlete. So I had to admit his sense of fair play intrigued me.

  One time he caught me watc
hing him and he stole the ball and sank a jump shot. The way he moved that lean body was almost as compelling as the cocky grin he aimed in my direction.

  “You’ve been holding out on me, roomie,” Kiley said behind me.

  “I haven’t. I ran into him last night at Maxie’s, which was almost as bizarre as him being the corporate volunteer. I’ve worked at Lund for almost a year and before last week I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him. Now it’s like he’s everywhere.”

  “The universe is telling you something.”

  I turned to face her. “Telling me what?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know yet. But there is a reason you two keep ending up at the same places—outside of work.”

  A shout brought us back to the wall to help out.

  The next time I happened to glance over at the game, the players had switched it up and Brady was playing for the skins team.

  And I froze in place, seeing the musculature rippling in his back as he jumped to block, but Red shot over him and the ball dropped neatly through the hoop.

  That must’ve been the game ender. Both teams high- and low-fived as they walked off the court toward the picnic table.

  After Brady plucked his shirt off the ground and used it to mop his face and neck, his gaze connected with mine.

  It took every ounce of willpower I had not to let my focus drop to the dark hair covering his chest, or fall lower to what I assumed were killer abs, or become mesmerized by the way his biceps flexed as he walked closer, holding his T-shirt.

  Eyes on his face, eyes on his face—crap, my eyes did their own thing and dipped down to his neck and across those wide shoulders and down over his furred chest to the little pillows of flesh that comprised his abs. I forced my traitorous eyes to zoom back up to his and not drop, even for a second, to what he had going on below the waistband of his athletic shorts.

  He stopped a foot away from me, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “I thought my girlfriend would have a bottle of water cracked open and ready for her hard-playing man.”

  My eyes narrowed.

  His grin widened. “Fine. Come here and give me a hug, woman.”

  It registered that I had a can of spray paint in my hand. I took a half step back and held it up. “Keep your hot, sweaty body right there.”

  “Or what? You’ll spray paint me?”

  He’d taken another step closer, forcing me to take one back. “Don’t push your luck, Brady.”

  “So you’ll set a bad example for these kids and start an all-out paint fight just to avoid giving me a hug? Come on, baby,” he said in a husky tone. “Give it to me.”

  “All-out paint fight? From what I see, I’m the one with the can of paint, not you, so you’d better just stop right there.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Not a good thing to dare me—I’ve never been able to resist one. So I started to shake the can. “Okay, if we’re playing truth or dare, I’ll pick . . . dare.”

  Brady immediately backed up. “Lennox. I was joking. Having fun with this.”

  I stepped toward him. “And now I’m having fun with it.”

  Then he stopped and threw his arms open. “Okay, wild thing. If you’re going to do it, make it count.”

  I pressed my finger on the sprayer head and aimed at his chest. I made one long neon green line down the right side, and then a shorter line above the waistband of his boxers.

  His mouth dropped open and he stared at the beautiful L I’d painted on his chest.

  But I didn’t have time to bask in my derring-do.

  Brady snatched the can from me. Keeping a tight grip on my wrist, he aimed the nozzle at himself and turned the L into a lopsided B. Then he wrapped his arms around me, plastering our chests together.

  And the man was so damn strong, he’d picked me up off my feet and held me in place with no effort whatsoever.

  I squirmed, intending to smear the paint all over him, and he laughed. I looked up at him, my glare ready to fry his retinas, but the happiness I saw shining in his eyes stole my breath away.

  “I’ll never doubt your ability to refuse a dare ever again, wild thing.”

  “Put me down.”

  “I will.” He smirked. “As soon as the paint is dry. But while we’re waiting, tell me what time I’m picking you up for our date tonight?”

  “When did I agree to a date?”

  “Last night at the bar. I saved your pretty neck, remember? I said I’d be in touch, but since we’re both here and it’s a Saturday night, I don’t see any reason to wait.”

  “What if I have plans tonight?”

  A fierce light entered his eyes. “Break them.”

  And I was done arguing just for the sake of arguing. I wanted to see if he was a lousy date, and there was only one way to find out. “Okay. One date.”

  “A first date,” he corrected.

  “If you two are done playing grab-ass, I could use some help,” Kiley said behind me.

  Brady set me down.

  I smirked at the paint smeared on his upper torso. It’d be a bitch to get out of his chest hair. And if he asked me nicely, I might just help him remove it.

  For the next two hours we worked on covering the graffiti. Again, Brady’s demeanor was different than I expected. At work he’d always acted more blatantly self-assured than quietly confident. Here he was more laid-back than I’d ever seen him.

  During our lunch break, Juice said, “Hey, Brady. Whatcha do for a job, man?”

  “I’m an accountant.”

  I nearly choked on my water.

  “No shit? I suck at math.”

  “I’m sure you don’t,” Brady said.

  “Then why am I getting a D-minus in algebra?” Juice demanded.

  “Are you doing the homework problems?”

  “Nah, I don’t get how to do ’em. And they’re pointless anyway, ’cause ain’t no one uses algebra in the real world.” He tore into his bologna sandwich. “Why’d you say I don’t suck at math? You some do-gooder who thinks I just oughta apply myself?”

  Brady took a drink of water. “Math is like basketball—if you don’t practice it, you won’t get any better. That means doing the math homework every night. It’s a cop-out when people say they suck at math. Numbers make sense. There’s an order and a structure to them. If you add seven to four, you get eleven, every damn time. With English, answers are subjective. So yeah, I think most people make math harder than it has to be.”

  “Maybe you should prove that it’s so damn easy by tutoring me,” Juice challenged.

  “Then prove to me you want to beat your math phobia.”

  “How?”

  “Do your homework every night next week. Bring your completed assignments and your textbook the next time and I’ll take a look at it all.”

  “What do you want for helpin’ me?”

  Brady looked at me, then at Juice. “Advice. See, I’ve got this hot blond girlfriend I want to take out and show off tonight. I’ve been out of the club scene for a few years, so where should I take her to impress her?”

  “Flurry,” Juice and Tonto said simultaneously. “That is a wicked fun club. Five dance levels. The sound system cost millions. Lots of neon and chicks dancing in cages. But it’s freakin’ hard to get in. There’s always a line. They pick the hot babes first, then hot dudes. Some rich guy owns the club. I heard the VIP section is sick.”

  “How do you know all of that?” Kiley asked Juice.

  “My cousin got in one night.”

  Everyone started asking Juice questions, as if he were a celebrity who’d actually gotten into the club, and he ate it up. I looked over at Brady. He seemed lost in thought.

  “Looks like you’d better track down some slutty club wear for tonight,” Kiley whispered.

  I went to bars—and not even all that much anymore to be honest—not clubs. But I wouldn’t waste brain cells worrying about what to wear. My more immediate concern was how I’d keep m
y hands, mouth and other body parts off my date.

  When Brady’s heated gaze met mine, my heart raced. We were combustible.

  “All right. Let’s get this stuff picked up and you can go on your merry ways,” Kiley said to her charges. “I appreciate all of you coming today. We’ll do it here again next week—weather permitting.” She pointed at me and Brady. “Let’s give a shout-out to Lennox and Brady for helping out today.”

  After loading everything in the SUV, the kids went off in different directions, all of them at least paired up so they weren’t walking alone in this sketchy part of town. Over the past couple of hours I’d noticed groups of three or four guys wandering around the perimeter of the playground checking us out. They never approached us, so we must’ve looked nonthreatening. Or maybe too threatening, as a group.

  Kiley looked around the empty parking lot. “Where’d you park, Brady?”

  “At the Walker.”

  “That’s five miles from here,” I said.

  “Better place to leave my car.” He shrugged. “I needed to run today anyway.”

  He ran five miles and then played basketball for two hours? And he wasn’t exhausted?

  Obviously the man had great stamina.

  Makes you wonder what kind of staying power he has during other physical activities, doesn’t it?

  “No,” I said aloud.

  Both Kiley and Brady stared at me.

  “Sorry. Thinking about something else.”

  “Well, if I drop you off at your car, can you take Lennox home?” Kiley asked Brady. “All these supplies belong to the center and I have to return them today.”

  What was she doing?

  “Besides, you need to know where we live before your date tonight anyway.”

  “True.” Brady smiled at me and drained his bottle of water. “A ride would be great.”

  I called shotgun like a fifteen-year-old boy.

  Kiley was preoccupied on the drive, and I didn’t press her to talk, because chances were she couldn’t tell me anyway if it involved her kids.

  Ten minutes after we left the park, we pulled into the parking lot. “Which car is yours?” she asked.

  “The black BMW in the corner.”

  “Sweet ride.”

  “Thanks.”