Brook stirs beside me, and I wonder if I made any noises in my sleep. Oh God. My face burns. What if I called out North’s name in my sleep? I had been pretty wild—and loud—in the dream. And I’m pretty sure I . . . well . . . you know. My hand flies to my belly, which is still fluttering.
This doesn’t mean anything. My brain is playing tricks on me. And last night after the game, well, by the time the bus rolled back into town, it was well past a reasonable time to even consider any kind of bedroom celebration.
My body and brain are apparently colluding to take care of my sexual frustration with or without my permission. And because I spend so many hours a week reading up on players, watching interviews and games, naturally my brain selected an imaginary sexual partner.
“Oh God.” I sit up in bed, burying my face in my hands. I can’t go around having mind-blowing imaginary sex with my quarterback. We should be focusing on our big game on Sunday, not seeing if it’s possible to get turf burn from going at it in the middle of a field.
I narrowly resist the urge to check my arms and back for marks. It was a dream. Of course I didn’t get turf burn.
Brook stirs again, and this time he opens his eyes. He stares up at me in confusion and blinks twice. “Hey, beautiful.”
Of course he has to go and say something so sweet when I’ve just been cheating on him in my mind. “Hey,” I whisper back.
“Are you okay?” he asks sleepily. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Something like that. “It’s okay. Go to sleep.”
“Come here.” He pulls me close, his hands moving up on down my back. I close my eyes and wait for him to fall back to sleep. It’s too hard to be here next to him, touching him when moments ago . . . No. I can’t let my mind go back there. Not now. Once his hands slow to a stop and his breathing returns to a deep, measured pattern, I slip out of his arms and out of the bed.
Pushing back the curtain slightly, I gaze out the window at the dimly lit interstate. It’s not much of a view, but every so often a car or semitrailer passes by. I wonder who is making the trek across Nebraska in the middle of the night. Are they on some kind of adventure, or are they going home? We should get a place with better scenery in our next home.
It was only a dream. I need to repeat that a few more times. I’ve never met Todd Northwood, and I probably never will. Even if I did, he’d never give a second glance at me. I wouldn’t care either. Well, only if I asked him for an autograph, and he blew me off. I’m sure that would never happen. He has a reputation for being gracious to his fans. All the same, right now, standing here awake, there isn’t cell in my body that feels anything more than respect for North.
Well, maybe almost every cell. I’m woman enough to admit I’ve stared overly long at the way the muscles in his arms ripple when he chucks a ball downfield. Or the way his broad shoulders fill a dress shirt in the post-game interviews. The power behind his voice when he calls audibles. A shiver runs down my spine and a longing stirs in my belly.
No. It’s perfectly acceptable for him to make me feel a little funny in my tummy, but I should give it a rest.
Brook lets out a heavy breath in his sleep, and I cast a quick glance at him before turning back to the window. I’ve had those kind of dreams before of course, but not about anyone but Brook since I met him. Maybe that’s the reason for my guilt. Or maybe it’s because no matter what I say, no matter how hard I try to keep up the appearance that everything is perfect, I know it isn’t.
And whose fault is that?
Is it Brook’s for accepting the interim head coach position? Of course not. It’s one of his dreams. Maybe not under these circumstances, but it’s a dream all the same. Even if he’d asked for my opinion before he’d said yes—and he didn’t really have the option or need to do it—I would’ve encouraged him to go for it. I understood what I was signing up for when we started dating. No, Brook isn’t to blame. But am I totally at fault? Aren’t I entitled to want more than a few stolen minutes here or there? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I had more going on in my life. My fantasy football league and job don’t exactly cut it.
Maybe I should say something to Brook. Instead of pretending that everything is fine, maybe I should tell him what’s going on. I’m sure it would help me feel a lot better. I’m equally sure it would hurt him, or at least make him feel guiltier than I’m sure he already does. It would be selfish of me to tell him I miss him even when we’re in the same room.
A tear falls down my cheek, and I wipe it away quickly with the heel of my hand.
“Harper?” Brook calls again. The exhaustion, the confusion in his voice, pierces my heart. He sits up in the bed, rubbing his face. “What’s . . . Why are you . . .” He sounds more and more worried with each partial question. “Is it morning?”
“No. Go back to sleep.”
More alert, he notices the tears on my cheeks. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I will be.”
He pushes back the covers and swings his feet to the floor.
“Really, it’s okay.” I step toward him. “I just can’t get back to sleep. Stay in bed.”
“No, I’m up.” He stops a foot away from me and pulls me into his arms. I don’t fight him, but I can’t relax. His hands soothingly run up and down my spine, trying to work out that tension. It’s wonderful and painful at the same time. He pulls me in tighter. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” My voice breaks, and I grip onto his shirt, digging my face into his shoulder. I breathe in deeply, absorbing his scent and fighting the tears that are once again threatening to come out.
“You can tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I admit at last, because it’s so easy to talk to him when he’s listening. But even though I have a captive audience, I can’t unleash everything. Not now. Not until I understand what it is exactly I want to say. “I’m just . . . something.”
“You are something,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice. He kisses my forehead. One hand traces shapes on my back. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I shake my head again, burrowing deeper into his hold. “But this helps.”
For now. It’s a tiny bandage on a gaping wound. But until I fully understand the cause of the injury, what point is there in trying any other remedy?
Chapter Ten
IN A LOT OF WAYS, HAVING the inappropriate dream about Todd Northwood was a good thing. It gave me a chance to consider some of the issues plaguing my mind. And ultimately, it gave me something else I wanted: a sleepy tumble in bed with my sexy boyfriend.
Which had inadvertently led to him sleeping through his first alarm and having to make a mad dash out the door to make it to practice
Thanks to the chaos of his morning, I’m sure Brook will feel compelled to spend an extra couple of hours at the school, which buys me time to go ring shopping with Wade. After a couple of weeks of scanning websites, all we have to do now is see the finalists in person to decide which one best signifies his love for Amelia. (Or at least the one that she can’t say no to when he gives it to her on bended knee.)
“I still say dropping to one knee is a cliché,” Wade whines as we make our way through the crowded mall. With Nebraska playing an away game at night, it seems we’re not the only local fans taking advantage of the afternoon off from watching football. “That’s how everyone’s story goes. ‘And then he dropped to one knee and I said yes.’”
“You’ll notice the end of that story,” I say dryly. “It always ends with the significant other saying yes.”
His brow knits together in a frown. “So you’re saying she won’t say yes unless I get down on one knee?”
“I’m not saying Amelia’s answer depends totally and completely on that one factor.” I shrug. “But don’t you think she’s the kind of girl who will want to have that little detail to retell in her story?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. Damn. How am I supposed to make this unique if there are so many rule
s to follow?”
“That’s the challenge and the fun.” I grin at a little boy bending over a stroller to plant a kiss on his baby sister’s cheek. It reminds me of a photo my dad snapped of Scott and me when we were little. In it, Mom is in the background, heavily pregnant with Christopher. We like to call it our first sibling photo. “Taking something traditional and putting your own spin on it.”
“Man, I miss the good old days of a man going to a girl’s father and making all of the arrangements.”
I tear my eyes away from the pint-sized brother and sister to frown at Wade. “You mean back in the days when men traded their daughters for a yoke of oxen or a flock of geese?”
His lips twitch. “Pretty much. Though oxen and geese didn’t come up when I asked the Major if he’d give me his permission to marry his daughter.”
“What did he say?”
“That’s between us menfolk,” Wade teases. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you little women about that sort of thing.”
“Wow. I never realized how lucky Amelia was to have you.” I shake my head. “And just how many goats is she worth? I want to make sure I have the figures right when I tell her someday. Like maybe on your wedding night, or when she’s in labor with your first child together.”
Wade pales. “You tell her that, and I’m telling Brook you’re having a hot and wild affair with Todd Northwood.”
I knew it was a mistake to tell him about my dream. I hadn’t planned to—it just slipped out when we saw Todd on the cover of a magazine. Sending a death glare his way, I sail past him and into the jewelry shop. I come to a stop in front of a case of rings. The diamonds catch the light from overhead and dance. I forget to breathe when my eyes fall on one. A simple cushion cut with a dainty band of diamonds. Timeless, classic, and it looks exactly like the ring half the girls I graduated from high school post photos of on Facebook with the obligatory “My man has good taste” or “I said yes” comment.
I wish everyone else in the world hadn’t decided they loved this style, too. It takes away from its antique, old world feel. Pushing away from the case, I move down the counter. Finally catching up to me, Wade leans over the counter to scan the display. “Anything jumping out at you?”
I shake my head. “Maybe we should ask one of the clerks to help us find the ones we picked out online.”
“Okay.” He tucks his hands into his pockets. “You’re the boss.”
I glance around for an available clerk, and almost like magic, one appears on the other side of the case. “Can we help you lovebirds with anything today, or are you just looking?”
“Lovebirds?” Wade’s eyes narrow. He points at me with his thumb, bemusement written across his face. “You think we’re a couple?”
The clerk’s face flushes red. “Uh . . .”
“What my friend here is trying to tell you is that we are here to pick out a ring for his girlfriend. She’s one of my best friends.” I lower my voice like I’m divulging some big secret to bring the clerk into our level of intimacy. “Wade invited me along to make sure we find a ring she can’t refuse.”
She lets out a breath and nods. “Absolutely. Did you two have any styles in mind?”
I pull up the secret Pinterest board I created on my phone with the specific rings and general styles we liked best. She scrolls through the pictures and nods. “This should give us a good start.”
While she steps away, I elbow Wade in his rib.
“Ouch.” He steps back, shooting a glare at me. “What was that for?”
“For being such a weirdo.” My eyes narrow at him. “I understand you’re nervous about this, so I’ll cut you some slack. But you should probably try to remember that the sales representative and I are the only friends you have when it comes to making sure you don’t completely blow what might be the most important purchase you ever make.”
He clears his throat. “I’m sure there will be other important buys. Like getting a house, and a—”
“You’re right,” I agree. “Those are important, too. But want to know what makes those ones different from this one?”
“What?”
“Your ability to buy those things with Amelia depend on whether or not you succeed with this one.”
He gulps. “I’ll stop being weird.”
“Good boy.” I turn to glance around the rest of the shop and freeze. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Wade takes in the shock on my face. “What?”
I gesture across the room in time for him to catch Brook and Amelia walking into the store. We’re both gaping at the MacLaughlin siblings’ presence, when Brook turns in our direction.
“Duck,” I call out, and we drop to the ground a second before Brook’s gaze lands on our side of the store.
“What are they doing here?” Wade hisses.
I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. He’s supposed to be in a coaching meeting.”
“Do you think he saw us?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Shit,” Wade mutters under his breath. “I should probably give him a heads up this is happening.”
“You haven’t told your best friend you’re proposing to his sister?” I whisper.
“You haven’t told your boyfriend you’re helping his best friend propose to his sister?”
“You told me it was a secret.”
“And I haven’t exactly had a chance to talk to him lately.” Wade rubs his hands on his knees. “He’s been so busy lately, and—”
The clerk waltzes back to the counter, more confident than when she’d left us. “Okay, folks, I believe I . . .” she trails off, catching us kneeling on the ground. “Is everything okay?”
“His future fiancée is on the other side of the store,” I whisper.
“With her brother,” Wade adds. “Who happens to be dating this one.” He shoots a glare my way.
“What?” I frown back. “This is hardly my fault.”
“Shouldn’t you have known what his plans were for today?”
My eyes narrow. “Shouldn’t you have known what her plans were for today?”
The clerk turns her attention to the other side of the store. In a hushed voice, she says, “It looks like they’re picking up something.”
“What is it?” Wade asks, his voice still in a whisper. “Is it a ring?”
My heart jolts. “Did he tell you something about proposing?” I shake my head. “No. Don’t tell me if you know. I want to be surprised.”
“He hasn’t said anything to me.” Wade shrugs. “But you guys have probably talked about getting married.”
“Not exactly.”
He frowns. “Don’t you want to?”
“This is hardly the time for a conversation about whether or not I want to marry Brook.” Heart still pounding fast, I ask the clerk to tell us what she sees.
“It looks like . . . a broach,” she says, nodding. “Yes, it’s a birthstone broach. They’re pretty popular gifts for moms.”
That makes perfect sense. “Their mom has a birthday next week,” I remind Wade. “We’re all going out for brunch next Sunday to celebrate.”
Wade lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s right.” Glancing up hopefully at the clerk, he asks, “Do you think either of them noticed us over here?”
She shakes her head. “They seem to be pretty focused on paying for their broach and having it gift wrapped.” Her eyes light with interest. “And it seems they have one other order of business.”
“What?” I ask. My heart starts racing again.
“It looks like your future wife has a piece of jewelry that needs cleaning.”
Wade frowns. “What kind of jewelry?”
She cranes her neck to get a better look. Standing on her tiptoes, she nearly falls over the case. “Sorry. I can’t quite see. I can go find out if you like.”
“That’s okay.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my knees and back aching from holding this crouched position for so long. “But if
you wouldn’t mind, could you keep a watch for a few more minutes? Tell us if they’re headed this way?”
“I can do that.” She shoots me a sympathetic look. “If it helps, they’re almost done.”
“That does. Thank you.”
Wade and I remain frozen in our huddled positions. He leans toward me, and lowers his voice. “You want to marry Brook, right?”
“Probably—yes,” I correct.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You of all people are asking me that?”
“Amelia and I had obstacles to overcome.”
“And we didn’t?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Not really. And you guys are already living together. Marriage wouldn’t be that much of a change.”
“You and Amelia are living together,” I remind him.
“And I’m about to propose.”
Before I have to come up with a response, the clerk gives us the all clear. Even with her okay, we give it another minute—though it feels more like an hour—before we rise back to our feet.
“Thanks for being our lookout.” I stretch out the pains in my back as gracefully as possible. “I’d bet that doesn’t happen every day.”
“No,” she agrees, “but one time we did have a man’s wife come in and bust him and his mistress picking out a necklace.”
“What happened?” Wade shifts from side to side uncomfortably.
“It wasn’t pretty.” The clerk grimaces. “Fortunately, a security guard was passing by and intervened before they broke anything.”
“The display cases?” he asks.
“Those. And anyone’s noses.” She lowers her voice again. “Which is a good thing, because there’s no way the wife’s nose was the one she was born with. It would’ve been a shame to damage such good craftsmanship.”
Wade snorts, and I cover my mouth to keep from joining him. I mean, the whole thing is awful, yet hilarious at the same time.
“Let’s hope neither of us ever ends up getting in a rumble in a jewelry store,” I say. “Now, how about we take a look at those rings?”
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