Scoring Her Heart

by Marquita Valentine

  Or at least to get a first down before she throws a flag.

  The fact Paige invited me over so she can have the home-field advantage doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I plan to be on my best behavior and keep my favorite lines to myself.

  But I can’t help but text her before I go inside to have lunch with my brother and his wife.

  Me: Do you like flowers?

  Paige: Yes.

  Me: What kind?

  Paige: Ask your new BFF.

  I laugh, then make a mental note to shoot off a text to Layton later. Hey, Paige might have the sarcasm dialed up a bit, but I’m not so prideful that I won’t hit up her best friend again when I need some support...

  Hell, I’m glad she has that kind of support and yeah, I probably wouldn’t feel so warm and fuzzy toward Layton if she hadn’t put in a good word for me. But seriously, we all need someone like that to watch our back.

  For me, it’s my big brother Mikey. Growing up, he watched out for me and I made him laugh. It was my job. Something I was good at doing other than football. I goofed off so much that even the nuns had a tough time keeping their faces sour or their rulers out.

  I flex my hand, remembering the feel of the wood smacking against my knuckles. Their discipline was good training for the NFL. If I could take a hit from Sister Margaret Hairlip, then I could take a hit from any linebacker.

  Automatically, I cross myself in case God’s listening in on my thoughts and sharing them with Sister Margaret.

  Man, Mikey and I got into so much trouble with her.

  Even though I have a key, I knock anyway.

  Catherine opens the door, her face lighting up. “Hey, you.”

  I kiss her cheek and walk inside. “Hey, yourself. How’s he doing?” I ask as she closes the door behind me.

  “Today’s a mostly good day,” she says. “Have you eaten?”

  I shake my head. “Thought I’d eat with you guys, if that’s okay.”

  “Like you even have to ask.” She lightly slaps my shoulder and leans against me. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s not easy.”

  We move to the living room. The television is on, the volume so low I can barely hear anything they’re saying. He’s got the captions turned on, though, so I have to assume his ears are bothering him today.

  Catherine walks in front of me, tapping her husband on the shoulder. “Honey, look who’s come to eat lunch with us.”

  Slowly, he turns around, his eyes getting all crinkly. Dude is actually happy to see me for once... and that kind of breaks my heart. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I’ll take it over his anger at the world for getting hit by a drunk driver on the day the doctors confirmed his cancer was finally in remission.

  “Little. Brother,” he says, but his words are garbled. Still, I can understand him, and that’s a fucking improvement from two weeks ago. The speech therapist must be a good one this time. “Eat. Now.”

  A smile about cracks my face in two. “You’re so fucking bossy, Mikey.”

  Catherine laughs. She’s a fucking angel. Stayed with my brother through it all, even when he tried to push her away. Hell, a lot of women wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to be told to leave. “I tell him that all the time, but he says I’m the bossy one,” she teasingly complains.

  Mikey rolls his eyes. His mouth doesn’t quite move on the left side when he speaks again. “Bull. Ss-shit.”

  “Good to know you still have the mouth of a fucking sailor.”

  He grins with the right side of his lips. “Taught. You.”

  Yeah, he did. He taught me everything. “Bad influence. Even Mom and Dad think so.”

  Catherine strokes the mangled side of his face. The side I don’t really notice anymore because I’m so used to seeing it that way. “Want me to bring the food in here or do you want to go outside?”

  Mikey opens his mouth, but nothing really comes out. His cheeks get red and he looks really, really frustrated. I hate when he gets like this because there’s nothing any of us can do to fix it. Only time and physical therapy can heal his vocal chords and improve his body.

  “You know I have the manners of a barn animal, so I say we take it outside,” I suggest.

  My brother nods, the red fading from his cheeks.

  “Perfect.” She waves at the back the patio. “You two go ahead. I’ll bring out soup and sandwiches in a bit.”

  I grab the handles of Mikey’s wheelchair, but he grunts at me. “Got. It.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Independent.” I hold up my hands and glare at him. “Far be it for me to help a brother out—due to your advanced age and all.”

  Mikey shoots up one gnarled finger. “You.” He self-propels his chair toward the sliding glass doors.

  “Nice. Real nice,” I call after him and hurry to catch up. “Slow your roll, dickhead.”

  “Pussy,” he bites out.

  Secretly, I’m thrilled he’s giving it back to me. The last thing I want him to think is that I’m helping him because he’s disabled. I want to help him because I know how fucking hard he and Catherine work every single day so he can get better. I consider it payback for the years he helped me with football, school, and girls... everything.

  He didn’t want my help, but I purchased this house in a gated neighborhood near North Raleigh Medical last year. It has the best physical therapy program in the nation. While insurance paid out a hell of a lot, it didn’t cover everything... and it sure as hell didn’t make up for the future he and Catherine had to put on hold.

  Mikey stops by the pool, turning to look at me. “You. Good?”

  “The usual.” I shrug. “Met a girl. She’s not like the others.”

  “Has. Taste?”

  “Knew I could count on your support, big brother.”

  Catherine joins us, holding a large tray piled high with food. “Who is she?”

  “Do you have bat hearing?” I glance at the door, realizing I left it open because there’s no way she could have opened it with her hands full.

  “Here, take this,” she says, thrusting the tray at me. I take it from her and place it on the large table. “Bats can’t understand humans.”

  “My bat of a sister-in-law can.” I stumble to one side when she hits me again, laughing at her futile attempt to pummel me. “Can you focus on my back? Got a knot that needs to be worked out.”

  “Just you wait, Dallas, I will get my revenge.” I’ve known Catherine since I was a kid, so her threats don’t bother me. “I’m going to tell your mom and dad about you throwing Michael into the pool last month.”

  Okay, so that threat bothers me. My parents would have my ass for pulling that stunt. Yeah, I dove in after him and yeah, he was prepared, but our parents are more than a little overprotective of Mikey—not that I can blame them.

  “Her name is Paige, and she’s a librarian at the Franklin-Hayes House.” I grab a sandwich and tear into it. “Happy?”

  Catherine smiles triumphantly, and I wonder if I’ve just been played. “Thank you. Is she pretty?”

  I nod, keeping one eye on my brother. He hasn’t joined us yet, but once he’s done figuring out whatever is in his head, he will.

  “Are you going to ask her out?”

  “We have dinner plans tonight. She’s cooking for me.”

  Catherine grins. “She’s a keeper.”

  “We’ll see,” I say noncommittally. A woman like Page is a keeper, but according to her, I’m not. After only one date, I shouldn’t care... but I do. Maybe it’s because I saved her life by catching her when she fell.

  Mikey moves to the table, and his wife starts fussing over him. He looks at her like she’s his entire world. She tucks a napkin into the collar of his shirt, then rearranges his bowl and fixes the spoon into his good hand.

  “Slow,” she cautions. “Slow and easy, baby.”

  My brother cocks an eyebrow, like he wants to protest, but he doesn’t. “Okay. For. You.”

  She touches his face again, so lov
ingly that it almost seems as intimate as sex.

  Looking at the two lovebirds, I almost make a smartass remark, but jealousy rockets through me. For the first time... I want what they have.

  Fuck.

  * * *

  Time slows to a crawl after I leave Mikey and Catherine’s place. A good thing, I guess, since I need to pick up flowers—specifically violets—and a bottle of wine before going over to Paige’s house.

  After Googling the best florist in the area, I call the place and place an order. They offer to deliver, but I decline so I can take it in person.

  Yes, she said I didn’t have to bring anything, but there is no way I’m showing up empty-handed. Not only am I pretty sure it’s a criminal offense around here to have bad manners, but my own mother would also be disappointed. My family, especially my mother, is my Achilles heel.

  Always has been and always will be.

  Now that I’ve had more time to think about it, my reaction to Catherine and Mikey was nothing. I was in the presence of two amazing humans who have overcome a lot of odds to be together. That’s bound to influence a guy.

  I grab the PlayStation remote, put on my headset, and sign on to play Madden in a room created just for Renegade players to blow off steam. Aiden is already there, along with a few other guys from the team.

  “Look who decided to sack up and join us, ladies,” Aiden says in a condescending tone that makes me want to kick his ass.

  “Shut up and play,” I growl, then spend the next thirty minutes ignoring his commentary and thrashing our opponents.

  “At least you play like you got a pair,” Aiden says.

  “Why are you so obsessed with my nuts?” I ask, earning a few snickers. “Miss yours?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Aiden leaves the game. I smile, say goodbye to my teammates, and log off. I jog upstairs to shower, shave, and change, which takes me a good twenty minutes, and then I’m back on the road.

  I make a couple of quick stops at the florist and one of those fancy-ass wine places since North Carolina doesn’t have party stores like we do back home, then jump into my SUV and arrive at Paige’s place with ten minutes to spare.

  Learned that trick in Boy Scouts. If you’re not early, you’re late. If you’re on time, you’re still late.

  Grabbing the violets and wine, I take my time getting out of my SUV and locking it before sauntering up to her doorstep while checking out her neighborhood.

  It’s nice and middle class, comprised of rows of townhouses, each with a different color door. A good thing, since they all look exactly alike. Large trees dominate the sides of the buildings while postage-stamp-sized front yards are neatly trimmed with mums planted in the flowerbeds.

  God knows how many of those holes I dug for my mom each fall. She loves mums so much that I make sure the lawn service I hired plants at least two dozen of them each year as soon as there’s a chill in the air.

  Searching, without luck, for a doorbell, I rap the door with my knuckles and wait. A few long seconds later, Paige answers, looking as fine as anything in a pair of dark jeans and a green sweater that hugs her tits. Her honey-colored hair is pulled back in the front and held in place with a small barrette while the rest of her curls seem to float around her shoulders.

  Her smile is bright and reaches her eyes as she greets me. “Hey, you’re right on time. I just took the roast out of the oven.”

  Told ya. “I couldn’t wait to see you.” I hold out my hands. “Came bearing gifts and everything.”

  Her blue eyes light up. “Violets?”

  “I had some insider knowledge.”

  She takes the flowers from me and buries her nose in the middle. A second later, she starts laughing... my girl is nervous or excited. I’m hoping she’s leaning more toward the latter.

  “And wine?”

  “You don’t have to drink any tonight. Figured you could share this with Layton. I’m not looking to take advantage of you unless you’re sober.” I wink at her, earning a blush.

  “Thank you.” She reaches up and brushes my cheek with her soft lips. Her scent washes over me, a mash-up of flowers and vanilla with a hint of pot roast. Hey, what can I say? I’m a man who loves food.

  “If that’s the response I get for flowers and wine, I can’t wait to buy you something really nice,” I say, half-joking. Shit, I shouldn’t have gone there. One, I don’t want to set up the expectation. Two, I don’t want to suddenly find greed shining in her bright eyes.

  She gives me a look, but it’s not mixed with greed at all. In fact, she looks a little sad and a whole lot uncomfortable. “I don’t know you well enough for really nice gifts, and I’d feel weird if you did get me something expensive because I wouldn’t be able to return the favor.”

  Is she thinking of the asshole who wanted sexual favors in exchange for dinner? “Guess I’ll have to return the unicorn I was saving for our third date.”

  “Wait. Now I have to take that back. There’s no way I can pass up the gift of a unicorn,” she says, another nervous giggle leaving her mouth. “But I have to confess that I bought you a ticket to the now-found city of Atlantis. They only serve beer, hot dogs with coney sauce, and S’mores... and play football for days on end.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Her pretty eyes widen. “Why?”

  “Because if I were to go on a trip to a special place like that, then I’d want a special woman at my side...” I know what’s she thinking now—it’s written all over her face and her body language. She’s ready to throw a flag and text her best friend to come save her. “So it would be really rude of me to ask you to toss in a second ticket so I could take my mom.”

  She stares at me for a moment and then... her entire face turns into a smile, then a laugh, and she’s shaking her head, inviting me inside and shutting the door behind us.

  “Hope you like pot roast,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder before she sets the flowers on a small table in the hallway.

  With the way she’s swinging her hips and flashing those baby blues my way, I don’t care what the hell she’s serving. I’ll eat every bite.

  “It’s one of my favorite meals.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Paige

  My second date with Dallas is nothing like the first. Okay, so he’s still the same outrageously sexy, charming guy with enough lines for a rom-com and funny stories about his family. He’s also still hot as anything and keeps catching me staring at him like a teenager with her first crush.

  I’m not that interested. I swear I’m not... except I’m completely drawn to him.

  Ridiculous, I know... but I like the feelings he invokes. I like it when our hands accidentally touch or when our legs brush under the table. Tingles run up my arms and down my sides, straight to where I’m getting hotter.

  And wetter.

  “You cooked, so I’ll clear the table,” he says and starts taking dishes to the sink. Then, he goes a step further to making me melt into the floor by rinsing them off and putting them in the dishwasher. “And because that’s the best home-cooked meal I’ve had in a long time, I’ll also wash.”

  “What am I supposed to do while you take care of everything?”

  He gives me one of his signature winks. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

  I open the fridge, looking inside. “Can I get you another beer?” Before she’d left after breakfast, Layton suggested I buy Dallas’ favorite beer. I took her suggestion... along with cooking his favorite meal and making sure I had rocky road ice cream in the fridge for dessert if he wanted it.

  Seven-percent body fat goals or not.

  Google and the Dallas Drake fan page on Facebook were a lot of help. No, I’m not entering stalker mode, but I do like being prepared. Since he went to so much trouble to get back in my good graces, I felt like I needed to return the favor.

  “You trying to take advantage of me, Ms. Owens?” he asks, a rakish smile on his lips as he slightly turns my way.

&
nbsp; “I might have read online that pot roast is your kryptonite.”

  He arches a brow, then dries his hands and walks to me, moving like a predator. Closing the fridge, I settle against it and wait for him to cross the small distance between us.

  Dallas doesn’t disappoint, and his bulky frame takes up all the available space in front of me. He places one hand beside my head and uses his other to cup my chin, tip it up...

  “What’s your kryptonite, bright eyes?” He leans down, like he’s trying to catch every word I’ll say with his lips. “Has to be something else besides poetry and movie adaptations of your favorite book.”

  “Muscular forearms. Big hands that have a soft touch and... men who clean up after dinner,” I say, feeling especially flirty.

  “Not football players?”

  Licking my lips, I shake my head. “As a rule, no.”

  “Do you think I could be your kryptonite?”

  My heart slams against my chest. He’s so close his body is almost touching mine, yet the only part of him touching me is his hand. His long fingers manage to stroke my sensitive skin and make me shiver with need.

  “Anything is possible.”

  He smirks and lowers his head. My lashes begin to close. “Anything?”

  “Yes.” I’m not just answering his question. I’m giving him permission, encouragement... whatever to let him know that he has to kiss me.

  His lips touch mine in what has to be the softest kiss I’ve ever experienced. He pulls away and I blindly lean forward, wanting more of what he’s offering.

  “Don’t stop,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t answer me, not with words, anyway. Instead he kisses me again, his tongue flicking at my lips until I can’t take it anymore and tangle my tongue with his.

  I wrap my arms around his shoulders and all but melt into him. His arms go under my thighs, lifting me to the most perfect position between him and the fridge. Neither of us seems willing to break our kiss.

  We keep exploring and tasting one another, until I’m tugging at his hair and he’s possessing my mouth like no man ever has before.

  Shamelessly, I rub against him. He grips my ass harder, and I whimper.