can't afford a princess who'll demand attention and suck you emotionally dry with mind games. A low-maintenance woman with no emotional strings, that's what you need."
"A fuck buddy?"
"Yup. Get one. A good-looking, young guy like you shouldn't find that a problem. Just keep emotions out of it."
Easier said than done. Right now, only one woman interested him. She was the last woman on earth who'd agree to something like that, and he'd never ask her.
Rachel walked through the door of the coffee shop and glanced around the room. Not comfortable in even the most modest heels, she walked with short, tentative steps, afraid she'd turn an ankle. Right on schedule, she stumbled just before she reached the table.
Razor Barnes reached out and grasped her arm to steady her. “Are you okay?"
Embarrassment heated her cheeks, but she managed a composed smile. “I'm sorry. I'm accident-prone."
Razor glanced down at a small bandage wrapped around her index finger. He nodded and shook her hand.
"I'm Rachel McCormick. Mr. Barnes, so good to meet you.” She accepted his firm handshake, all the while wondering what the heck she was doing here.
"Razor, please. No need to be formal."
"My family will be insanely jealous when I tell them about this.” Severe understatement. Her brothers would kill to meet the legendary receiver.
He motioned to a seat across the table, and they sat down. “I'm guessing you're curious why I contacted you."
"Very curious.” She wrapped herself in a cocoon of cool professionalism and waited for him to make the next move.
"You're aware I'm the wide receiver coach for the Jacks."
"Of course."
"Do you believe there are no coincidences in life?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well, I do. Everything happens for a reason."
"Okay.” She spoke with caution, not sure what direction this conversation was heading.
"Harris was razzing Ramsey yesterday in the locker room about you. It seems you're helping him with his technique."
"A little. So far it's not helping."
"I found it curious and did a little digging. I know about your father."
"He's innocent.” The words tumbled out too fast, but she didn't regret them.
Razor's expression didn't change. “Regardless, you shouldn't pay for his mistakes. You have quite a football background. In fact, it's your passion."
"It is. My aspiration is to be a pro scout."
"I understand all about passion, Rachel. I also understand how hard it is to be a woman in this league."
"You do?"
"My wife is an athletic trainer for the Jacks."
"I had no idea."
"Most people don't. She uses her maiden name because she wants to make it on her own merits. There's more. It just so happens Marc Brent and I played college ball together."
"The former coach for the Blockbusters."
Razor nodded. “He sings your praises, says you have the most incredible football mind."
"For a woman."
"I didn't say that."
"But you thought it.” Rachel smiled.
Razor smiled too. “Perhaps. Did Ramsey tell you I'm making him my special project?"
Rachel nodded.
"We're going to need your help, he and I."
Doubt slid through her. “Okay."
"Good to see you brought a laptop."
"I've started a training plan for Derek.” She opened it and handed it to Razor. He nodded as he read it.
For over an hour, they mapped their strategy until the owner of the coffee shop flicked the lights on and off and stood at the door, key in hand.
Rachel jumped to her feet. Razor was slower to rise. He walked her to her car.
"You can count on me, Razor.” She opened her car door and slid onto the seat.
"There is one more thing."
"Sure. Anything."
"Please don't be offended—"
The next evening, Rachel sat on her porch with her laptop, creating one of her cyberlists. This particular list outlined several confidence-building exercises for Derek. She'd spent the day researching online, everything from tips and tricks of the best receivers in the business to sports psychology. Despite her eventual goal, he paid her to do a job,
"A fuck buddy?"
"Yup. Get one. A good-looking, young guy like you shouldn't find that a problem. Just keep emotions out of it."
Easier said than done. Right now, only one woman interested him. She was the last woman on earth who'd agree to something like that, and he'd never ask her.
Rachel walked through the door of the coffee shop and glanced around the room. Not comfortable in even the most modest heels, she walked with short, tentative steps, afraid she'd turn an ankle. Right on schedule, she stumbled just before she reached the table.
Razor Barnes reached out and grasped her arm to steady her. “Are you okay?"
Embarrassment heated her cheeks, but she managed a composed smile. “I'm sorry. I'm accident-prone."
Razor glanced down at a small bandage wrapped around her index finger. He nodded and shook her hand.
"I'm Rachel McCormick. Mr. Barnes, so good to meet you.” She accepted his firm handshake, all the while wondering what the heck she was doing here.
"Razor, please. No need to be formal."
"My family will be insanely jealous when I tell them about this.” Severe understatement. Her brothers would kill to meet the legendary receiver.
He motioned to a seat across the table, and they sat down. “I'm guessing you're curious why I contacted you."
"Very curious.” She wrapped herself in a cocoon of cool professionalism and waited for him to make the next move.
"You're aware I'm the wide receiver coach for the Jacks."
"Of course."
"Do you believe there are no coincidences in life?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well, I do. Everything happens for a reason."
"Okay.” She spoke with caution, not sure what direction this conversation was heading.
"Harris was razzing Ramsey yesterday in the locker room about you. It seems you're helping him with his technique."
"A little. So far it's not helping."
"I found it curious and did a little digging. I know about your father."
"He's innocent.” The words tumbled out too fast, but she didn't regret them.
Razor's expression didn't change. “Regardless, you shouldn't pay for his mistakes. You have quite a football background. In fact, it's your passion."
"It is. My aspiration is to be a pro scout."
"I understand all about passion, Rachel. I also understand how hard it is to be a woman in this league."
"You do?"
"My wife is an athletic trainer for the Jacks."
"I had no idea."
"Most people don't. She uses her maiden name because she wants to make it on her own merits. There's more. It just so happens Marc Brent and I played college ball together."
"The former coach for the Blockbusters."
Razor nodded. “He sings your praises, says you have the most incredible football mind."
"For a woman."
"I didn't say that."
"But you thought it.” Rachel smiled.
Razor smiled too. “Perhaps. Did Ramsey tell you I'm making him my special project?"
Rachel nodded.
"We're going to need your help, he and I."
Doubt slid through her. “Okay."
"Good to see you brought a laptop."
"I've started a training plan for Derek.” She opened it and handed it to Razor. He nodded as he read it.
For over an hour, they mapped their strategy until the owner of the coffee shop flicked the lights on and off and stood at the door, key in hand.
Rachel jumped to her feet. Razor was slower to rise. He walked her to her car.
"You can count on me, Razor.” She opened her car door and slid onto the seat.
"There is one more thing."
"Sure. Anything."
"Please don't be offended—"
The next evening, Rachel sat on her porch with her laptop, creating one of her cyberlists. This particular list outlined several confidence-building exercises for Derek. She'd spent the day researching online, everything from tips and tricks of the best receivers in the business to sports psychology. Despite her eventual goal, he paid her to do a job,
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