Page 13 of The Game Changer (Knights of Passion #3)
Chapter
Nine
L ater that evening, after the new furniture had been delivered and the gnawed-to-hell couch hauled off like some wounded war casualty, Dylan grilled steaks for the two of them on the back patio—a thank you, he said, for everything she’d done with Sadie.
Savannah should have begged off. Her sister was God-knew-where, probably dancing half-naked in her living room again, or still.
The rescue had dogs that needed walking, feeding, and cuddling.
But the bubble they’d shared earlier—walking the grounds of that broken, hopeful shelter—had wrapped around her like armor.
A breath of stillness she didn’t want to lose.
A selfish little island of just this, away from everyone who needed her.
And Dylan… Dylan had a quiet, restrained ache about him. A loneliness he wore like a second skin, probably so ingrained he didn’t even feel it anymore. But she did. And damn it, Savannah had always been a sucker for people who didn’t know they were bleeding.
Dylan needed her. Maybe not the way she needed to be needed, but in that silent, aching kind of way that lingers.
So she sat back in a patio chair, sipping a beer, and watched him at the grill like it was a sacred ritual. “Has that grill ever actually been used? It’s showroom clean.”
He didn’t look over. “Of course I’ve used it. A couple of times. I clean it after every use—per the manual.”
She laughed into the rim of her glass. “Manual? Dylan, it’s a grill, not a surgical instrument. You’re supposed to leave the drippings. That’s the seasoning. That’s what makes the meat sing.”
“It’s unsanitary.”
She bit her lip against a grin and let her eyes drift down the length of his body.
Her thoughts veered straight into dangerous territory—heat curling in her belly.
He moved with easy control, muscles working with precision.
Focused. Intense. What would that kind of control feel like in bed?
What would it take to unravel him, pull him apart thread by thread?
Savannah shivered despite the humid July air.
It had been way too long since she’d let anyone that close.
Most of her past lovers were of the “get in, get off, get out” variety.
But Dylan? Dylan was a man who’d take his time.
Who’d study a woman like a scouting report and make her fall apart one detail at a time.
And if that wasn’t sexy, she didn’t know what was.
Of course, all she had was a fantasy. A memory of sharing his bed—with two dogs as chaperones and not a man in sight. Now he’d gone and bought her a guest bed. Which pretty much screamed hands off, lady. Just friends. Dog trainer. Nothing more.
Her eyes lifted just as he turned toward her, catching her staring.
“Medium rare?”
She blinked and nodded, heat blooming up her neck. Focus, Savannah. That’s what vibrators and fantasy novels were for.
He brought the food over on a cutting board—two perfectly grilled steaks and a spread of roasted veggies. Her stomach growled in appreciation.
“Nice spread. Didn’t peg you for a chef,” she said, taking in the presentation.
He shrugged, sitting across from her. “I’m not. Just competent. Basic survival. I need to eat and take-out is not the healthiest.”
As he reached for the steak, the fabric of his shirt stretched across his chest, revealing taut lines of lean muscle. Not bulky, not showy. Whipcord strong. Functional. Built for endurance. Her mouth wasn’t sure whether to water from the food or the view.
“You’re not built like a typical catcher.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve known a lot of catchers?”
She smirked. “No, but I’ve seen plenty. They’re usually shorter. Broader.”
“I’m taller than average,” he admitted. “But I chose the position because it’s one my dad never played. Call it a rebellion. Shrinks would have a field day.”
She took a bite of steak and moaned softly. “God, this is good. Your dad played too?”
He tensed slightly, eyes dipping to her mouth before jerking away. “Yeah. Mostly infield. I think he liked that I played catcher—it kept me out of his shadow.”
“Seriously? Your dad was jealous of you?”
“Jealous is strong. Let’s just say he had... expectations. Thought I’d follow his path straight to the draft. He was pissed when I chose college.”
“Why didn’t you go straight to the draft?”
He took a long pull of his beer before answering. “Because I didn’t want to be his second act. He never quite made it. Bounced around teams. Never found a home.”
She paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “So, you never had a home either.”
He looked at her, and something raw flickered behind his eyes. “And I didn’t even have to pay for therapy for that insight. Just a steak and some dog training.”
She grinned. “Hang around animals long enough and humans make sense. We’re just messier dogs.”
“Speak for yourself. I don’t chew furniture.”
She laughed and popped another bite into her mouth. “So you got your degree as a backup plan?”
“Yeah. My dad’s still looking for his. Thought I’d hit it big and carry him along. I do okay, but not enough to support a family of leeches.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Cook like this and they’ll line up, anyway.”
He chuckled, tension slipping off his shoulders. “Alright, enough about me. I gotta ask. Savannah?”
She groaned. “Yes, my name is Savannah. Yes, I live in Savannah. No, it wasn’t a joke. My mom thought it was poetic.”
His smirk turned downright gleeful. “Did she fill out the birth certificate after too many margaritas?”
She glared. “Laugh it up. My mom named us after cities where our fathers were from. Told you she was crazy.”
He choked on his beer. “It could have been worse. You could have been named Tuscaloosa.”
She busied herself cutting more of her steak, avoiding his gaze. He burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right? Tuscaloosa?”
“Lucy,” she said through gritted teeth. “We call her Lucy. And she will end you if you say otherwise.”
He lost it, full-on belly laughing. “That’s amazing. And she lives with you.”
“On the list of things not to talk about, she’s right up there.” She popped a piece of squash in her mouth and chewed.
“I can bare my soul but you can’t? That’s not fair.”
“What can I say? Life’s not fair. I never asked you to tell me your life story. I asked you why you cleaned your grill. You offered the rest.” She slipped a piece of her steak under the table and Sadie took it delicately, swallowing it without even chewing.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to feed her from the table.”
“Like you haven’t been doing that all night.
” She grunted. “My sister is still trying to find herself. Unfortunately, she tends to find herself in the company of less than desirable men who have no jobs, take advantage of her, and, in general, are of no use to society. Otherwise known as losers. But she loves them. I blame mom. But don’t we always blame our parents? ”
He pushed his clean plate back and leaned back in the chair, fiddling with the label on the beer bottle. “There’s an element of blame for our parents, but what about personal responsibility? At some point, we have to grow up and make our own choices. Look at you.”
“Yeah, I gave up losers for Lent years ago, and I’m not even Catholic. Instead, I focus on abused and abandoned dogs, the losers of the canine family, as some people would say.”
He tilted the bottle and took a long swallow as he considered her words. “Maybe they are the losers and maybe, like your sister, you’re trying to reform them like she tries to reform those men.”
She stared at him in dawning horror. “Oh, my God. Do you really think that?”
He burst out laughing. “How the hell should I know? I don’t know your sister. Maybe she just loves losers. You should see your face though. Priceless.”
She tossed her balled-up napkin at him but laughed, Sadie jumping up to bark in between them, not sure of the game but wanting to be included. “You’re such a jerk,” Savannah said, but there was no heat behind it. “Glad to know my family’s dysfunction is your entertainment.”
“You think mine’s any better?” His voice dipped, the humor giving way to something rougher.
“My mom took off the second I graduated high school. Packed up my sister and went to Hollywood to turn her into a star. Now they party together, date barely legal guys, and pretend everything’s perfect for the cameras. ”
She blinked. “Wait. Lindsey Prosser-Hurst is your sister? Life with Lindsey ? Wow, I had no idea. She’s a…” Savannah’s voice trailed off as she caught sight of his face.
His smile vanished. “A train wreck? Almost, but not quite.”
Savannah looked away, sucking her lower lip between her teeth. Her one vice. She loved gossip, and his sister featured in many stories, especially the one from last night. His chair legs slammed down on the patio blocks, and he leaned forward, the bottle clinking on the glass tabletop.
He leaned forward, setting his beer bottle down hard. “What do you know?”
She hesitated, then reached for her phone, scrolling through the news alerts until she found the article. Her fingers hovered, suddenly unsure. Then she handed it over.
“I just saw this. I didn’t know?—”
He held up a hand, eyes locked on the screen. His jaw clenched tighter with every line he read. After what felt like forever, he passed the phone back and stood abruptly.
“Will you excuse me?”
Before she could answer, he turned and disappeared into the house, sliding the door shut behind him with soft finality.
Savannah sat back, her appetite gone, Sadie pressing against her leg like a living apology.
“Well,” she muttered, picking at her food, “that went well.”