The Guardian Groom: Texas Titans Romance Read online

  And since she was up close at the expo and he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, she’d noticed his eyes were light blue. A sweetheart blue, she’d call the color if pressed. But only if pressed, because she wasn’t talking about him, them, or their strange encounters of the second kind to anyone.

  She’d never experienced anything like the sensations that coursed through her when their eyes met. Her gaze had been like one of these magnets, drawn back to him and clicking in place. Breaking away from him had been difficult. He made her nervous and excited and her thoughts became clumsy.

  Which was so unlike her! She was usually the calm one. No drama. No fits. No passion.

  Passion? Where did that come from?

  She shook her head. “If I want passion, I’ll hit the romance section.” Better to stick with books and book boyfriends than to make a fool of herself with some hunk in a tight shirt.

  Chapter Six

  Owen strode into the Dairy Queen. Normally, he stuck to his training diet, but there were times in a man’s life when he needed a giant burger and greasy fries. Tonight was one of those nights, and since he had a 50-mile bike route planned for the next day, he wasn’t too worried about the extra calories.

  Most of the guys put on weight in the off-season because they continued to pound the calories and did half the work. He had a hard time keeping weight on because of his love of cycling and his faster-than-average metabolism.

  To say he’d been a late bloomer would be an understatement. His body didn’t mature fully until 22. Thankfully, he had a college coach who realized little Owen Mattox had finally grown up.

  The fast-food place was chock-full of families and tourists. The children had sunburns blushed across their noses and cheeks and smiles. Lots of smiles. The parents had drawn faces and dull eyes, exhausted from making sure their children were happy. Good people.

  He headed for the counter, hoping a table would open up soon so he wouldn’t have to go back to his house and eat out of a paper bag. Nothing made a guy feel lonelier than eating fast food in his living room. Besides, he’d been home alone all day; he needed an outing.

  He ordered and then stood off to the side of the counter with his plastic number to await his order. No one looked ready to hop up and vacate a table. The tile floor was clean and the walls had a fresh coat of paint. The smell of grilled meat wafted from the kitchens, making his stomach growl.

  A flip of black hair caught his eye, and he focused on the woman. A smile crept across his face. It was her, Bree from the expo. Like he could forget that name. Thoughts of her had popped up like mirages all weekend long. She’d looked good, real good, at the expo, with her hair down and that hiking outfit.

  “Forty-eight,” called a teenaged girl with a streak of blue in her hair and a henna tattoo on her wrist and hand. At least, he hoped it was henna. He’d felt the pressure to fit in with his college teammates and subjected himself to a tat on his bicep. Never. Again. He could handle being slammed in the chest by a 350-pound linebacker, but poke him with a needle and he jumped like a cartoon character.

  “That’s me.” He swapped her his plastic number for the food tray. “Thanks.”

  She gaped at his chest.

  He turned quickly, uncomfortable under her gawking, and headed straight for Bree. She was a life raft in a sea of strangers.

  “Hey.” He didn’t give Bree or her friend time to tell him he couldn’t sit there, didn’t hesitate. Just slid into the booth like he was invited. The tactic had served him well in every cafeteria situation he’d ever been in. Act like they want you, like they should like you, and people usually do. Except this time he was a little aggressive with his approach and ended up bumping Bree into the wall.

  “Hey!” She rubbed her shoulder.

  “Sorry.” He pushed her shake over with his forearm and a smile. She stared back at him like he’d entered another dimension where he was the only football player on the planet.

  “Hell-o?” said the woman sitting across from them. “Are you lost?” she asked in a patronizing voice.

  He laughed. “I’m a friend of Bree’s.”

  “Bree?” she squeaked. The look she gave her friend said, You didn’t tell me about this guy, and therefore we are no longer friends.

  Bree shook herself. “I don’t even know what to say right now.”

  “How about ‘Hello, Handsome’?” Owen joked. Lifting his one eyebrow—a feat that took three years of tutoring from his college roommate to accomplish—he unleashed the smolder.

  Crickets.

  “Sheesh. Tough crowd. Tough crowd.” He unwrapped his burger and kept his head down.

  Bree didn’t introduce him to the woman across from them, who was plowing her way through heavily chocolinated ice cream and watching him like a bug on the table.

  He tugged at his shirt collar. Maybe sitting here wasn’t the best idea. Better eat and get out quick. He snagged a couple fries and said the first thing that came to mind. “What happened to your hair?”

  Bree’s hands smoothed over her hair and down the ponytail at the nape of her neck. “What do you mean?”

  He swallowed a large mouthful, and hopefully his stupidity went down with it. What did he mean? “It looks different.” She looked different. Less makeup and a skirt to the floor and the world’s most hideous shoes. Women should never wear leather lace-ups. She probably thought they were practical or some other such nonsense.

  “I’m not really a model.” Her cheeks dusted with color.

  “You should be. You’re good at it.”

  She rolled her eyes. After a pause, she asked, “What are you good at?”

  “Football.”

  The girls exchanged a look and then laughed.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “It just sort of figures,” replied Bree. Her friend nodded as she traced his muscles with her eyes. First the girl at the counter, and now this one. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being checked out, but for some reason, he’d hoped for some anonymity in a town that was used to famous tourists passing through.

  “Right. Because I’m big and strong,” he joked.

  “And cocky,” added the friend.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “Audrey Pembrook.” She reached a thick hand across the table, and they shook. Audrey didn’t wear makeup either. He gave her his name and set to work on dinner.

  Once the introductions were made, some of the tension left the air. The women worked their way through shakes, glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes every now and again and speaking to one another without words. The action made him feel like the big black rain cloud hovering over their conversation picnic.

  The dining area was still packed with people. A kid at the table across from them pitched a fit over eating his corn dog. There were black-and-white framed photos on the walls of early Dairy Queen drive-ups. A chocolate-brown stain marred the ceiling, and he wondered if someone had tossed their shake too high.

  “Did you take your bike out this weekend?” He swiped his napkin across his lips and then down his chin. The beard tended to hang on to stuff and he couldn’t feel it. The last thing he wanted was to be caught with shredded lettuce on his face while trying to impress Bree. Not that he was trying to impress her, but he’d never had to work so hard to fit in.

  Bree groaned. “No. And I’m not planning on it anytime soon.”

  “I could give you some tips, and I’ll bet if we oiled the chain the bike would ride smoother.” He’d been thinking about how to make her bike better, easier for her to manage so she could enjoy the sport. Bree’s bike was something safe to think about, because thinking about Bree wasn’t a good idea. And yet, he couldn’t seem to banish her from his thoughts. Why was that? He eyed her carefully, trying to work out the mystery.

  A knowing smile crept across Audrey’s cheeks, and he felt movement as she kicked Bree under the table.

  Bree sat taller, which was hard to do because she had the best posture of anyone
he’d ever met. She rolled her eyes at her friend and turned toward him. “May I be blunt?”

  “Please.” He liked a woman who knew what she wanted.

  “This isn’t going to work.” Her finger wagged back and forth between them. “We aren’t the type of people who become friends. We come from two different planets.”

  “Mars and Venus,” he joked.

  Her forehead crinkled. “While I always appreciate a book reference, no. What I’m saying is, your kind doesn’t hang out with my kind.”

  “Why not?” Not that he particularly wanted to date this woman, but he was intrigued with her outright refusal of him.

  “How do I say this?” She took a bite of ice cream and rolled it around on her tongue before swallowing and answering. “I’m that girl from high school that you wouldn’t be caught dead with.”

  He jerked away and widened his eyes in horror. “You’re Mathilda Frankenspiel? What are the odds?”

  Audrey laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “You made that up.”

  Owen took her laughter and ran with it. “Did not—she follows me on Insta.” Even as he spoke, he pulled his phone out and tapped on the app, typed in her name, and brought up her profile picture. “See?” He laid the phone on the table for the ladies to peruse and stuffed five fries in his mouth at once in triumph. They were officially hooked into a conversation. ‘Bout time.

  Bree shuddered. “Not to be rude, but she looks like she torments small animals for fun and uses her own hair to make tea.”

  He gagged and grabbed for his drink. “Thanks for the mental image, but yeah.”

  “Wait.” Audrey grabbed the phone. “You’re the Lone Ranger? I’ve heard of you.”

  “I’m flattered.” He wasn’t. Anyone who lived in Texas knew the Titans, and his name was a big part of the team.

  “Yeah, I watched you play at Texas A&M.”

  He offered her a fist bump. “Go, Aggies.” Being recognized for his college years was so much fun. College was a time to prove himself, the development years. He had to fight for every minute of playtime, and then he had to prove he deserved it. He was really proud of what he’d done at A&M.

  “What about you?” he asked Bree. There was a part of him that hoped she was an Aggie too. That would be unanticipated but not unwelcome.

  “Texas.”

  He dropped his jaw and put both hands over his heart. Ah, the rival. “How are you two even friends?”

  Bree lifted her chin, elongating her neck like a swan. The move was graceful and elegant with a little haughty thrown in. She captured his attention, and he knew he’d be replaying that moment again when he was biking in the morning. “We both work at the library.”

  “Coworkers, then?”

  They both nodded.

  He found himself thinking she was cute in her indignation, like when she’d been on the bike. Just … cute. And because all he wanted to do was lean back in his seat, throw his arm across the back of the bench, and chat it up with Bree, he hastened to his feet. “Thanks for the conversation, ladies.” He yanked his tray off the table and dumped the contents in the garbage on his way out the glass doors.

  The warm evening air brought him back to his senses. He wasn’t into cute. Cute was … dangerous.

  * * *

  Bree followed Owen’s hasty departure with her eyes. The booth now seemed to dwarf the two of them with the empty space he left behind. “That was weird.”

  Audrey flipped around. She too had been mesmerized by Owen’s appearance, ability to consume food quickly, and then exodus. Or perhaps she was captivated by his size. Up close, he was a monument to the capabilities of the human body. “What was weird?”

  “That!” Bree threw her arm toward the door. She glanced down at her outfit, the long, tiered skirt and peasant blouse drawn in by a wide leather belt. She wore the outfit on Mondays because it was comfortable and she could move easily. Monday was Books and Tots day, and she needed to move quickly when there were toddlers involved. Now she wished she’d changed clothes to look less like a Mathilda Frankenspiel and more like the model Owen thought she was at the expo.

  Audrey stared at her, baffled. “He’s just being friendly.”

  “Of course you would think so—you’re delightful inside and out.” Bree shrank into the padded seat. “But unfamiliar men do not approach me on a regular basis.”

  “You’re adorable.”

  “Perhaps.” She was small in stature and thin, like a teenager. No, worse—a preteenager. “But adorable doesn’t translate to dateable. I’m puppy cute. Yay, play with the cute little puppy. But it takes a special person to want to take a puppy home.”

  “Oh, stop! You are not a puppy.”

  She sank lower. “I feel like a puppy. Especially around guys like him.”

  Audrey’s eyes glinted with mischief. “If you mean your tongue hangs out, then yeah. I can see it.”

  Bree covered her hot cheeks with her cold hands.

  Audrey laughed. “Admit it, he’s hot.”

  “I can admit he’s extremely attractive, and the only reason I can say that is because I will never see him again.”

  “You never know.” Audrey wiped her fingers on a napkin. “He lives here now.”

  “He does?” Bree gulped. Schulenburg was quaint with its German architecture and tourist shops on Main. Celebrities cruised through on a regular basis and no one freaked out too much.

  Bree was freaking out now. She busied herself cleaning up the crumpled napkins on the table and stuffing them into her empty shake cup. “It doesn’t matter.” She spoke as much for Audrey’s benefit as for her own. “I doubt he’s a bookworm, so I’ll probably never see him again anyway.” She stuffed the napkins in as far as they would go and pressed down hard. “It should be fine.”

  I should be fine. Not seeing his dimpled cheeks would be just fine. Fine indeed.

  Chapter Seven

  “I look like an idiot.” Owen stared at himself in the mirror. He wore a lightweight cotton plaid snap-up shirt with short sleeves that he’d picked up in a boutique store on Main Street, jeans, and cowboy boots of all things. Not that he hadn’t worn cowboy boots in his life. When he was a kid, a pair came through the hand-me-down line and he wore those bad boys all over town. Not having to tie shoelaces was a huge time-saver for a seven-year-old. However, he hadn’t worn them since, and his feet thought they were being suffocated.

  With a sigh, he flipped off the lights and made his way to the main part of the house. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Polka dancing?”

  Kyle grinned. “The online reviews were complimentary. Besides, it’s been two days since you were out of the house for anything other than a bike ride.”

  “I like my house.”

  “You need social interaction.”

  “I need a better best friend.”

  “Can’t be done.” Kyle clapped him on the back. “Let’s go.”

  Owen grumbled for the whole walk to the garage, during the ride over, and as they made their way into Senglemann Hall, where dancing took place every Wednesday night. Kyle was right. He needed to get out, needed an excuse. After seeing Bree and Audrey at the Dairy Queen, he’d locked himself away because he was right: cute was dangerous. And the woman had a mother who had no trouble clamping on to her daughter. He needed to think about that every time his mind wandered to Bree’s swanlike movements.

  Owen walked into the dance hall, feeling as though he were entering the music as much as they entered a room. Music—polka music complete with accordion solo—floated offstage, the band as animated as the notes. The clarinet player was especially jammin’.

  The sound was an entity all of its own. Owen didn’t hate it like he’d expected to. He wouldn’t be jamming out to this tune on his next fifty-miler, but it didn’t claw its way up his spine either.

  Heads turned to take in the newbies like they were gunslingers entering a saloon. Kyle may be able to fly under the radar since he was 5 foot 9 and
180 pounds, but Owen’s 6 foot 3 and 280 pounds drew attention. Or it could be that his orange plaid shirt was somewhat ostentatious. He stared at the back wall until the attention faded.

  Kyle rubbed his hands together. “Where should we start?”

  To the right, a punch bowl and fifty glasses of water were placed on a folding table. Right next to that was another table with a sign across the front that said “Support the Summer Reading Program and Enjoy a Homecooked Brownie.”

  Behind the table sat Bree. Her head was down as she read a book, and her hair was back. Why did she always have to pull it away from her face? When it was down, it softened her. He could just see her waking up from a nap, all pillow-ruffled and sleepy-eyed. He hit his fist into his thigh to jar himself out of that line of thinking.

  Bree had said something about working at the library, and he suddenly felt the need for a library card and a tour—and a brownie.

  The dance floor was made of wood, dull, scratched, and clean. The walls were painted blue halfway up with a pine log set into the wall at waist height. Above the log, the walls were cream-colored and there were framed movie posters from a bygone era artfully arranged.

  They didn’t have long to ponder the question of where to begin, because two girls in their early twenties strutted forward. The shorter one flipped her light hair over her shoulder and placed a hand on her hip, thrusting her chest forward in the process. “You guys are new, aren’t you?”

  The taller one, with dark brown hair and a mole on her chin that should be looked at by a medical professional, arched her back and stuck out her rear end.