simply couldn’t do it. Mama would have a conniption—and even tough guys didn’t cross their moms.
“Sure, Coach, I’m outta here.” Jake pulled the jersey over his shoulder pads and trotted out on the field. He’d barely made it to the twenty-yard line when he spied Dwayne on the sidelines clucking and flapping in his mascot costume as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Boy, did that moron have another think coming.
“Hey, Culpepper, get over here.” Jake heard Cole, but hewas too focused on the chicken to care. Ten yards, five yards, two yards—and a big fat splat!
Jake didn’t plan to hurt the jerk. Dwayne was family, even if he was a doofus. It was just going to be a friendly tussle—no big deal. Too bad he hadn’t counted on the ramifications of tackling a six-foot featherbed. Jake spit fluff out of his mouth and had to admit that this hadn’t been one of his better ideas.
Cole pulled him up by his jersey and smacked him on the arm. “Culpepper, you are such an idiot. Do you know who that is?”
Of course he knew who it was. He wouldn’t tackle just anyone . “Yeah, it’s Dwayne.” He reached down to give his cousin a hand up.
Cole shot him one of those grins that meant trouble with a capital T . “Like I said, you’re such an idiot.” He stepped in front of Jake and addressed the chicken. “Are you okay?” “Hmmmph.”
“Tell you what. Flap your wings if you need help getting the head off.”
Feathers flew as the chicken wings pumped up and down accompanied by frenzied sound effects.
“Hmmmmph, hmmmph, hmmmph!”
Cole patted down the puffed feathers. “Give me a sec.” He glanced at Jake. “Get over here, dumb ass, I have something to show you.” He was still grinning widely. “Boy, are you in trouble!”
What was he talking about? There wasn’t a soul who cared if he pounded Dwayne. In fact, the Road Runner gals would probably line up to give him high-fives.
Cole swept the mascot costume head off with a flourish. “What do you say to this?”
Jake gaped. “This” was a tall, slender woman with bigbrown eyes, a pixie haircut and Cupid’s bow lips. Jeeze, Louise. He’d decked some gorgeous chick.
He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. Damn! She could have been seriously hurt. Thank God for all those feathers!
First he’d had to deal with Dwayne’s shenanigans and now he had a pissed-off Ashley Judd look-alike on his hands. Would someone please put him out of his misery?
The irate beauty whapped him upside the head with her wing. “You cretin!”
If looks could kill, he’d be pushing up daisies. That wasn’t the reaction he generally got from women. A quick assessment convinced Jake that Miss I’d-Like-to-Snap-Your-Head-Off was okay.
“Oh, boy.” Cole grimaced. “Don’t look now, but here comes Texas Bob. I sure wouldn’t want to be in your cleats.”
Great, just what he needed. Texas Bob Hurst wasn’t going to be happy about this latest screw-up, and with his contract renewal coming up, Jake did want to stay on the boss’s good side.
Much to Jake’s surprise, Texas Bob put his arms around as much of the chicken as he could hold.
“Is my baby girl okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he turned his glare on Jake.
Baby girl! Baby girl, as in the man’s daughter? Crap, his ass was definitely grass.
“You.” Texas Bob stabbed a finger in Jake’s direction. “My office—twenty minutes. No excuses.”
Jake watched the chicken clomp off the field behind her father. He glanced at Cole. “That’s bad, huh?”
His friend slapped him on the back. “Definitely.”
Several of his teammates had crowded around to check out the action, and in unison, they shook their heads.
As they say in Texas—well, shee-it!
Chapter Three
Ten minutes later, CiCi had been examined by the team doctor. Thanks to the multiple layers of padding in the mascot costume, she’d escaped the hard tackle with only a couple of
“Sure, Coach, I’m outta here.” Jake pulled the jersey over his shoulder pads and trotted out on the field. He’d barely made it to the twenty-yard line when he spied Dwayne on the sidelines clucking and flapping in his mascot costume as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Boy, did that moron have another think coming.
“Hey, Culpepper, get over here.” Jake heard Cole, but hewas too focused on the chicken to care. Ten yards, five yards, two yards—and a big fat splat!
Jake didn’t plan to hurt the jerk. Dwayne was family, even if he was a doofus. It was just going to be a friendly tussle—no big deal. Too bad he hadn’t counted on the ramifications of tackling a six-foot featherbed. Jake spit fluff out of his mouth and had to admit that this hadn’t been one of his better ideas.
Cole pulled him up by his jersey and smacked him on the arm. “Culpepper, you are such an idiot. Do you know who that is?”
Of course he knew who it was. He wouldn’t tackle just anyone . “Yeah, it’s Dwayne.” He reached down to give his cousin a hand up.
Cole shot him one of those grins that meant trouble with a capital T . “Like I said, you’re such an idiot.” He stepped in front of Jake and addressed the chicken. “Are you okay?” “Hmmmph.”
“Tell you what. Flap your wings if you need help getting the head off.”
Feathers flew as the chicken wings pumped up and down accompanied by frenzied sound effects.
“Hmmmmph, hmmmph, hmmmph!”
Cole patted down the puffed feathers. “Give me a sec.” He glanced at Jake. “Get over here, dumb ass, I have something to show you.” He was still grinning widely. “Boy, are you in trouble!”
What was he talking about? There wasn’t a soul who cared if he pounded Dwayne. In fact, the Road Runner gals would probably line up to give him high-fives.
Cole swept the mascot costume head off with a flourish. “What do you say to this?”
Jake gaped. “This” was a tall, slender woman with bigbrown eyes, a pixie haircut and Cupid’s bow lips. Jeeze, Louise. He’d decked some gorgeous chick.
He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. Damn! She could have been seriously hurt. Thank God for all those feathers!
First he’d had to deal with Dwayne’s shenanigans and now he had a pissed-off Ashley Judd look-alike on his hands. Would someone please put him out of his misery?
The irate beauty whapped him upside the head with her wing. “You cretin!”
If looks could kill, he’d be pushing up daisies. That wasn’t the reaction he generally got from women. A quick assessment convinced Jake that Miss I’d-Like-to-Snap-Your-Head-Off was okay.
“Oh, boy.” Cole grimaced. “Don’t look now, but here comes Texas Bob. I sure wouldn’t want to be in your cleats.”
Great, just what he needed. Texas Bob Hurst wasn’t going to be happy about this latest screw-up, and with his contract renewal coming up, Jake did want to stay on the boss’s good side.
Much to Jake’s surprise, Texas Bob put his arms around as much of the chicken as he could hold.
“Is my baby girl okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he turned his glare on Jake.
Baby girl! Baby girl, as in the man’s daughter? Crap, his ass was definitely grass.
“You.” Texas Bob stabbed a finger in Jake’s direction. “My office—twenty minutes. No excuses.”
Jake watched the chicken clomp off the field behind her father. He glanced at Cole. “That’s bad, huh?”
His friend slapped him on the back. “Definitely.”
Several of his teammates had crowded around to check out the action, and in unison, they shook their heads.
As they say in Texas—well, shee-it!
Chapter Three
Ten minutes later, CiCi had been examined by the team doctor. Thanks to the multiple layers of padding in the mascot costume, she’d escaped the hard tackle with only a couple of
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