Blitzing Emily

by Julie Brannagh

  “He also said something about his contract negotiations, and the coach being happy about this.” Amy squeezed Emily’s hand as she let go. “So, we agreed that we’d stay engaged for a month. It tells the ex-girlfriend to get lost, the team’s happy, and James will get the hint that someone else actually wants me.”

  Amy squirmed a bit on the bed. “So, Em, I realize you’re not going to know this because you’re not here a lot and you don’t watch football, but I guess I’d better tell you. Brandon’s a bit of a handful.”

  “That’s the truth. I can’t figure him out. One minute, he’s sweet and funny, the next minute, I’d like to throw something at him.” Emily thought for a moment. “He did say something about a public relations issue.”

  “You might say that.”

  “What happened?”

  “You’re not going to be happy.” Amy studied the ceiling for a moment. “Brandon and a bunch of other players were at a party last month at a teammate’s house and the cops came.”

  “Was it drugs? Drinking? What?”

  “A sixteen-year-old girl who looks twenty-five.”

  “Oh, God. Oh, no.” His career. What about her career? She was an idiot.

  Amy continued. “There were underage girls at the party getting body parts signed, and therefore, Brandon got dragged into it as well. The team has already traded two guys as a result. The only things that saved him were his signing closer to her collarbone than her breast, his apology in person to the girl’s father, and his significant donation to the Boys and Girls Club.”

  “So, he’s going to be trolling the high schools,” Emily groaned.

  “No.” Amy shook her head vigorously. “That’s not his speed. He likes to have fun, he likes the women, but according to the people I know who know him, he was horrified at what happened. He definitely doesn’t want to end up on the online gossip websites again. Plus, they just drafted a new DE, and he’s trying to renegotiate his contract right now. He wants to retire with as much of the owners’ money as he can over the next couple of years.” Amy took a breath. “The other stuff he gets in trouble for is being late for curfew on road trips, that kind of stuff. It’s pretty minor.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Don’t kid yourself: That guy is busy, but he’s not dangerous. He’s just much too charming. There are women all over town that could probably tell you all about it. I know there are women who’d like to see him dragged behind the team bus, but they did stick up for him when it happened.”

  “What are you talking about?” Emily crossed her arms over her chest. This wasn’t good news. It sounded like she’d vaulted out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  “Everything goes well till he’s tired of whoever he’s with, and then it’s over. It’s happened repeatedly. Then again, I can’t figure out why he was dating Anastasia Lee. You know, the model. She’s a head case.”

  Amy’s supply of local gossip was inexhaustible. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “I’m single and I date. Plus, one of the Sharks’ cheerleaders has a yoga studio next door to the shop. I’ll ask her if she has any new dirt.”

  “Has he been engaged before?”

  Amy thought for a moment. “Good question. She’ll know. She said her cell phone started ringing with this late last night.” She flopped down on her back next to Emily. “So, he was nice to you?”

  “He stayed with me at the hospital. They wouldn’t let me check out unless he promised to watch me, and he did. He slept here last night. He woke me up to make sure I was okay, he fed me, and he tried to make me feel better when James called.”

  Amy nodded, and her eyebrows lifted. “He might be nice, but he’s a player.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “This would also mean that I suck. Why didn’t you call me? I would have stayed with you.”

  “You couldn’t have left your shop yesterday if you wanted to, and you know it.”

  Amy twirled a long strand of Emily’s hair around her fingertip. “You’re my only sister. Plus, you know all my secrets. I would have been here.”

  “I was okay.” Emily stared at the ceiling. “Brandon is also saving my butt as far as the engagement. Overnight, everyone seems to want to book me, even if James told the entire industry I’m ‘difficult.’”

  An evil smirk turned up the corners of Amy’s lips as she considered Emily’s comment.

  “Oh, I see. You just decided to go along with this.”

  “What do you mean?” Emily said. Oh, no. Amy was like a dog with a bone under the best of circumstances, and she smelled steak.

  “You hate this, don’t you? Don’t play dumb. Let’s face it, Em, he’s gorgeous. I’d hit that. Lots of other women already have.” Emily wrapped both arms around herself. She didn’t want to think about Brandon “hitting it” with anyone else.

  A cross between a laugh and a snort left Amy’s lips. “You get to wear a diamond the size of a car headlight; you get to play house with him for a month . . .”

  “Ame, come on. I won’t be around. I’m working all month, anyway.”

  Amy tried to control her mirth, and Emily tried to control her annoyance.

  “What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?” Amy said. “How are you going to explain getting engaged to someone you’ve known for twenty-four hours? This isn’t going to work.”

  “Of course it will,” Emily assured her. As long as nobody found out the truth, everything was fine.

  WORRYING ABOUT WHAT her parents might have to say about all this was actually low on Emily’s priority list. She was thinking about her upcoming performances. There were two weeks of rehearsals in Seattle, another two weeks of performances, and she’d be in Chicago for five weeks after that. When Emily wasn’t in rehearsals for an upcoming performance, she worked doubly hard with her new voice teacher and her coach to learn more roles. The more operas she knew, the more roles she was prepared to sing, the more marketable she was.

  Sopranos had a limited shelf life in the opera world, and Emily’s goal was making it to the Met in the next two years. She could sing the top roles for ten years after that. She’d retire with an incredible body of work. Her goals got her out of bed in the morning. There wasn’t time for a relationship, no matter how lonely she sometimes was.

  If Emily stuck with the plan, she could have everything she dreamed of and worked toward. This was Job One. She’d find a guy later on.

  A few hours after Amy went home, Emily heard a knock at her front door. She peered through the peephole.

  “Sugar, it’s me,” Brandon said. He stood on the doorstep holding what appeared to be an overnight bag. “Maybe you should invite me in.”

  She pulled the front door open wide enough for Brandon to stroll inside. Pointing at the bag he held, she said, “I’m fine. You have a life! I don’t expect you to stay here.”

  “Of course you should. It’s almost dinnertime. You’re cooking, aren’t you?”

  Emily shut the front door behind him. “I don’t think so. Which one of us has a concussion?”

  He laughed as he dropped the bag next to the little table in the hallway, alongside the two suitcases that were still there from the other day. He took Emily’s elbow, and led her into the kitchen. He pulled the refrigerator door open to look inside.

  “You don’t eat at home, do you?”

  “No. No, I don’t,” she said, somewhat absently.

  “Looks like it. Does opera have seasons, like the NFL?”

  “It depends on the opera company and when they’re mounting productions.”

  He nodded. He was still studying the inside of the refrigerator, newly full as a result of the grocery run he’d made while Emily slept. She was unused to seeing that much food. Then again, she’d seen Brandon eat. It wasn’t going to be enough.

  “What do you think we should make?” he asked.

  “Let’s order something instead.”

  Emily pulled open the drawer by the kitchen sin
k, which held every food delivery and takeout menu she collected over the three years she owned her house. She supposed she should have been embarrassed about this, but it wasn’t something she spent a lot of time dwelling on. If she was hungry, she ate, and typically it was ready-made.

  He shut the refrigerator door, and turned to face her. A teasing smile spread over his lips. “You don’t know how to cook.”

  “Well, I can make things in the microwave, and I . . .” Her voice trailed off. She was facing a full-on, naughty grin. The dimple in his left cheek flashed. She resisted the impulse to trace it with her fingertip. What was wrong with her, anyway? This wasn’t real. She needed to get a grip on herself and her runaway hormones.

  He reached out for her. His voice in her ear was low and seductive.

  “I’m a very good cook, and I give lessons. They cost hardly anything.”

  She tried to break away, but he didn’t let go of her. She was torn between nervousness and attraction. Confusion played a role, too. She couldn’t imagine what he thought he was doing.

  She moved away, and he followed, one inch at a time.

  “We have all these menus here.” Emily dug around in the pile. “Look. Thai food, British pub food, Mexican, a bistro, pizza, sub sandwiches, there’s all kinds. What are you in the mood for?”

  She was talking a mile a minute, and he took her chin in his fingertips. Her knees were knocking. She was a little dizzy. She couldn’t decide if it was from the concussion or the fact that Brandon had now slipped his hand into her hair, and was slowly drawing her closer. He was touching her again. Wait a minute. This was supposed to be pretend.

  “A kiss for a lesson,” he coaxed.

  “I don’t know what you want to eat,” she protested, but her voice trailed off again. Her eyes were drawn to his lips, to the dimple denting his left cheek, to his half-lidded eyes. His arm slid around her. She took a quick breath.

  “Imagine how many lessons you’ll need if you’ve never cooked before, sugar.” His lips brushed Emily’s forehead. His low voice sent a shiver up her spine. “That might be a lot of kisses. I know I said I’d teach you, but are you up to all that kissing?”

  Her knees were doing this odd, melting thing. Her fingertips slid over the warmth of his skin, the silken blond hair on his forearms (and some truly impressive biceps). He pulled her even closer. “I think I’ll enjoy it,” he assured Emily.

  “But we’re not supposed to be kissing,” she said in a small voice.

  “Says who?”

  She looked up at him. It seemed urgent that she tell him. “My knees aren’t working.”

  “Oh, they’re not? That’s terrible. Better hold onto me, then.”

  He got closer. His mouth was moving toward hers, and her eyelids drifted closed. She’d been here before, but not with him. His arms tightened around her; he was a whisper from her mouth; she licked her lips . . .

  Emily’s eyes snapped open. What was she doing? She pushed against his chest, shoving herself away. No. No. She was not getting in a clinch with this man, even if she wanted to. Even if he was handsome, sexy, and smelled really great. Even if she was dying to kiss him.

  Brandon looked a bit startled. “What the hell was that?”

  “Self-preservation.” One hand shot toward him, traffic cop-style. “Keep your lips to yourself, football boy.”

  “Really?” He leaned against the kitchen counter, bracing one hand on it: One big, strong, warm, capable-looking hand. His charm was still set on ‘stun’, too. “Is it me you object to, the kissing, or both?”

  There was a Mexican standoff of sorts in Emily’s kitchen. She still held one hand out. He looked like it was all he could do to control his laughter. Her arm dropped to her side. “Let’s just get some dinner, and we’ll talk about it later.”

  “Promises, promises,” Brandon said, but she was shuffling through the menus again. “It’s been a long day for you, so we’ll stay in tonight. I’ll give you a cooking demonstration. Plus, we need to start dating. Maybe we should discuss that.”

  “You will? We do?”

  Emily was attempting to pretend five minutes ago hadn’t happened. She was still dazed. Plus, she needed to assert herself a little here. He did not get to make all the decisions. It was time he found out who was in charge here: Her. She’d functioned just fine until the day before yesterday, when Hurricane Brandon blew into her life.

  “Of course we do. We’re engaged. We have to date.” He leaned over to sniff her hair. “You smell wonderful.”

  Abruptly, reason returned. “Oh, I must have misunderstood. Cameras must be rolling. Where’s NFL Today? Save it for the fans, big guy.”

  She didn’t miss the look of surprise.

  “We made a deal. If we stick with the deal, it’ll work well for both of us. Let’s not screw it up.”

  She glared at him.

  “Fine.” He exhaled. “We should be talking, though. We’ll get to know each other better so we can pull this off. We both have to eat.”

  He made it all sound so reasonable. Emily was not one of those stupid women who would let a guy talk her into anything, but for all intents and purposes, Brandon had been talking her into pretty much anything he suggested for the past day and a half. She had to stop this.

  “How do you feel about scrambled eggs and toast?” he asked.

  “That’s breakfast. It’s dinnertime.”

  “You can’t tell me you’ve never had breakfast for dinner before.” He shook his head and began opening and closing cabinet drawers. “Where are your pots and pans?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “You have a cookie sheet, but you have no pots and pans?”

  “Amy likes to come over and bake cookies sometimes.” Okay, she sounded a little defensive, but he didn’t have to laugh at her.

  “I can’t believe you don’t cook.” His smile broadened. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind Emily’s ear. She jumped, and he looked pleased. “What’s going to happen if you actually want to cook something one of these days? What will you do then?”

  “I can order it from somewhere, or I can buy it ready-made. It’s . . .” Her voice trailed off for a minute, then she took a breath and informed him, “It’s a waste of my time. I have other things to do.”

  “I meant what I said about teaching you how to cook.”

  Emily closed her eyes for a moment. It would be nice if they could get through five minutes without disagreeing about something. But if it was so awful, why was her heart beating so fast? He was going to laugh at her, but he’d find out sooner or later.

  “My mom tried to teach me, and it was terrible. I burned everything, and she—”

  Her voice trailed off. The faintly mocking expression in his eyes faded. To her surprise, Brandon didn’t laugh.

  “You’ll learn. Cooking’s like kissing. It takes practice.” He let that sink in for a minute or two. “If we can’t have eggs and toast, we’ll have to come up with something else. Let’s get Chinese.”

  “That will work.” Emily sank into a chair at the kitchen table. He sat down next to her.

  “See how easy that was? If you agree with me, things go so much better.” He had to be kidding. “Our first fight.”

  “If that was a fight, we’ve been fighting since we met.”

  “Of course it was,” he soothed. “Maybe I need to stop at the jeweler’s tomorrow and pick something up for you to mark this occasion with.”

  “Are you serious?” she said. The smile he wore got even bigger.

  “Then again, I already bought you something today. What’ll I do tomorrow, huh? I like the idea of bringing you something every day.” He moved closer to the table, and stretched out one hand to her. His voice dropped to a low rumble. “Maybe I’ll get you a nice set of pots and pans.”

  Cookware never sounded sensual before she met him.

  “You can take your pots and pans and—”

  “Now, don’t get upset. I’ll tell you what. Let’s c
all the restaurant and order some food.” He spoke with exaggerated patience. Any second now, he’d start spelling the big words. “Do you think we could agree on that?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose.” Despite being half-crazed with frustration, Emily had to laugh. He tried to pretend he was completely disgusted, but his eyes sparkled. They were especially green today. Maybe they changed colors.

  “How do you feel about cashew chicken?” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Brandon,” she said.

  “You need a pet name for me. Everyone else has one.”

  She couldn’t resist teasing him again. “Box of Rocks?”

  “That’s going to leave a mark.” He smiled indulgently. “How about something nice? Pretend you like me.” Emily let out a snicker. “I’m expecting some originality here. Everyone is ‘baby’ or ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie.’ You think it over, and we’ll discuss it later.” His fingers curled around hers. She pulled her now-sweaty hand away.

  “You call me sugar,” she said.

  “That’s different. You smell sweet as sugar. I’ll bet you taste good, too.” He leaned toward her, and his breath brushed her cheek.

  “You smell like mint,” Emily murmured. She brushed her palms over her jeans-clad thighs. Mint and a delicious, male scent unique to Brandon she knew she’d never forget.

  He leaned toward her again. “I know it’s a lot to ask”—his lips were a fraction of an inch from her ear—“but someday, you’ll kiss me, won’t you?” She felt the heat rising in her face. Suddenly she was speechless; all she could do was nod. “That’s good.”

  He rose, rifled through the menus on Emily’s counter, and pulled one from the pile. He dropped into the chair next to her again. Even slouched in a kitchen chair, he was graceful.

  “We’ve already agreed on the cashew chicken,” he said. “What else might you like to eat?”

  It didn’t matter. Her heart was still ba-ba-bumping around in her chest, her palms were sweaty, she was inappropriately warm, and her toes curled in her shoes. Would she ever kiss him? He might be shocked if she did it now. Maybe she should wait thirty seconds or so. After all, she wouldn’t want to seem desperate.