Blitzing Emily

by Julie Brannagh

  She reached out impulsively, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed the corner of his mouth. His mouth twitched into a smile, and she traced his dimple with one fingertip. He nuzzled her hair. She snuggled against him. She wanted to kiss the hollow between his shoulder and his neck for so long, so she did.

  “Trying to distract me? You’re doing a fine job, sugar.” His mouth touched hers, the most fleeting of kisses. He wrapped his arms around her. She felt the laughter in his chest before she heard it, and her heart soared. “June works for me.”

  “I’m not sure about June. I have bookings. July’s better, but you’ll be in training camp.”

  He glanced away from her for a moment. “Maybe it’s time for me to retire. I can do the broadcasting thing, and I can spend more time with you.”

  “You love playing football, though.” Emily said. “You—you’d miss the guys. You’d miss the games. Why do you want to give it up?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I’m lucky to still be able to play, but as I get older, that luck may run out. Plus, I saw what my dad went through. I don’t want to play till I can barely limp off the field. I’d like to get out while I’m still feeling good.” He shook his head. “You don’t want to be dragging some broken-down guy around.”

  “I want whatever makes you happy,” she said.

  “That’s good. Let’s pick a date for the wedding, then. That will make me very happy.”

  Emily twisted her hands in her lap. “February second.”

  “You like February, huh?”

  “It was my parents’ anniversary.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “You’re trying to tell them something.”

  “I—I don’t know. They’re spending a lot of time together these days. I wonder what’s going on.”

  He rubbed his chin. “I know that I asked you to come up with a date, but now I’m asking you to change it.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s Super Bowl weekend. It’s a long shot that we’ll go, but, somehow, I’m thinking you won’t want to wear a wedding gown at Miami Stadium.”

  “Maybe not. The train and my veil would get beer spilled all over it.” The thought made her smile. “How about next January?”

  “Too long.” he complained. His fingers curled around hers, and her heart did a funny little “ba-bump.” “I know,” he said, and pulled her closer. “We’ll get married February fifteenth. Everyone gets married on Valentine’s Day. Let’s be different. Plus, you’ll get two dinners out every year instead of only one.” He leaned back again, a smug grin on his lips. “Just think. If you play your cards right, you’ll also get to go to the Pro Bowl with me. That’s in Hawaii, you know.”

  “You want to get married on February fifteenth so you won’t forget our anniversary,” she teased.

  He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. Warmth spread low in her abdomen. She squirmed a little.

  “That’s not true.” He wiggled an eyebrow. “We’re celebrating your engagement ring’s first anniversary.” He spoke into her ear. “We could always have a very private party.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yeah. You and me. You won’t even need a dress.”

  Emily’s face burned. She knew she was blushing. She was more than a little breathless. Unless she was really wrong, he wanted her, too. “We’re not getting married naked.”

  “The preacher can marry us, and then we can get naked.”

  “Try explaining to your mom that we didn’t invite her. What about my mom? They’ll freak out. It—”

  He laid his fingertips over her lips. “The wedding can be as big or as small as you’d like. It doesn’t matter. I want it to happen. You and me.”

  Emily dragged breath into her lungs. “Yes. This is real.”

  “Wait till you find out where we’re going on our honeymoon.”

  Her hands shook. Her mouth went dry. She shifted on the bench. “The NFL Hall of Fame?”

  His chuckle was low and sexy. He pulled her earlobe into his mouth, nibbled it, and said, “Nope. I’m not taking you anywhere anyone will recognize either of us. I want you all to myself.”

  “I might be able to arrange that.”

  “Good,” he purred.

  Being close to him was like sticking a wet finger into an electrical outlet. She kept telling herself to breathe. She couldn’t imagine there would be a day she didn’t feel like this.

  “So, we have a deal.” he said. “February fifteenth.”

  “Maybe we should discuss where we’re getting married.”

  “That’s your job. You get to have whatever you’d like, and I will be happy with it.”

  “It’s the First Church of Elvis for you, bruiser.”

  “Great. I’ll wear blue suede shoes.” His brow furrowed. “You’re not serious.”

  “Maybe. You’ll be so cute in that big black pompadour.”

  “You’ll be sporting the long, teased black hair, won’t you?”

  She had to laugh. “We can’t get married there. I love your hair the way it is too much.” She reached up to brush the curls off his forehead.

  “Sugar, aren’t you sweet?” He thought for a moment. “You’ll let my mama help you, won’t you? She loves that stuff.”

  “I will,” Emily promised. She ran her fingers through his curls again. The sun shone down on them. Hundreds of people enjoyed the Sunday afternoon all around them. It was just another day with one large exception: They’d set a wedding date. But Brandon never actually asked her to marry him. They had never talked about being in love, either.

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  THE HOUSE WAS painted a bluish gray with immaculate white trim. The older architecture was dwarfed by the large homes surrounding it, but Emily loved the old-fashioned overgrown gardens and the stone path from the sidewalk. Several steps led down the walk to the front door. The front porch needed a glider. If she lived here she’d pick some of the wild roses that grew over the railing.

  “Home sweet home,” Brandon said with a grin. “Nordquist’s allegedly in Hawaii with his girlfriend for a few days, so we have the place to ourselves.”

  “Who’s Nordquist?” Emily took a deep breath of wild rose-scented air.

  “You’ve met Greg. He’s on the practice squad. He lives in the basement when he’s in town.”

  The front door of Brandon’s house was inset with leaded glass: an old-fashioned, intricate design. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but it didn’t look like him. He opened the front door, and ushered her into the cool dimness of an entry hall with wide plank flooring. She set her handbag down on a large maple storage bench with hooks for coats.

  “How about a drink?” Brandon called as he went into the kitchen, which was to the right of the front door.

  She followed him. A maple kitchen table and cream-painted chairs sat in front of a sunny bay window. The cabinets matched the table and chairs. The countertops were neutral granite. Another window over the kitchen sink offered a view of the postage stamp-sized front yard. The appliances were stainless steel, and appeared new. There were even sunflowers in a sage-colored pottery vase on the kitchen table.

  He opened the refrigerator door. “I’ve got Coke, bottled water, beer, juice, and sweet tea. I can also make some coffee, if you’d like.”

  “I’ll take a Coke.”

  “No ice,” he mumbled to himself. He’d seen her order enough drinks without ice to know she stayed away from it.

  Emily wandered over to a bulletin board hanging above a maple-and-cream writing desk. Even a bachelor needed somewhere to put the grocery list, the team schedule, and the folder of bills to be paid. The rest of the board was covered with snapshots of what she imagined were family and friends at various vacation spots. She noticed a photo of Brandon with a dark-haired guy about the same age and with the same eyes and facial structure, along with an older couple. They were standing on what appeared to be the same deck she
saw through the arched entry into the dining room.

  “Are these your parents?”

  He glanced over. “Yeah. It was taken a few months ago.”

  Brandon had his mom’s blonde curls and her eyes, but the rest of him was his father. The four of them had their arms around each other, with his petite mom standing in the protective embrace of her husband. Brandon and his dad were laughing. Dylan kissed his mother’s cheek. She was beaming.

  “Your mom is tiny.” Her head barely came up to Brandon’s dad’s shoulder.

  “Imagine how much fun it was for her to have two ten-pound sons, eleven months apart.”

  Emily did her best not to flinch in sympathy.

  Brandon handed her the drink. He poured himself some iced tea. “Let’s go out on the deck for a minute.”

  Besides wondering if Brandon had stock in some type of maple furniture factory, Emily had a better idea why he bought the house. It was bigger than it looked from the street. The view from his dining and living room was breathtaking. The rooms overlooked Lake Washington, stretching all the way to the 520 floating bridge and the Space Needle and Columbia Center over the hill on the opposite side.

  “This must be great in the summertime,” she said as they passed through the French doors onto his deck.

  “It’s great even when it’s freezing out here. I love the view.”

  Emily enjoyed watching the boats move across the water until the breeze kicked up. She shivered.

  “You’re chilly, sugar,” Brandon said. “Let’s go back inside. Plus, you haven’t had the grand tour yet.” He took her elbow.

  “I thought we were going to Damian’s for dinner.”

  “There’s time. Come on.”

  The dining room featured an expandable maple table and hardwood chairs with padding in a hunter green fabric. “I don’t eat in here unless my mama makes dinner for everyone,” he explained. “She kept telling me, though, that I needed a nice table and chairs, so I bought them.”

  They moved into the living room, which had overstuffed furniture in dark green patterned upholstery. A heavy-looking wood-and-glass coffee table sat in front of a gas fireplace. More framed family photos leaned against the opposite wall. A folk-art painting of what looked like Tuscany leaned against the wall over the mantelpiece. It all looked comfortable, but there was an air of the unfinished. Brandon either didn’t spend a lot of time at home, or he wasn’t big on hanging pictures.

  “I love that,” Emily said. She nodded at the painting.

  “I was told I needed something bright for when it’s gray outside.”

  He led her down the hallway to a door he opened with a flourish. “This is my room.”

  This, too, was nothing like she had expected. The king size bed was of more maple, a simple design with a Mission-style headboard and no footboard. She imagined his feet hanging over this bed the way they hung over the edge of hers. The sheets and pillowcases were navy blue. The whole thing was covered with a quilt in varying prints, but predominantly in shades of blue. Another quilt was folded lengthwise and spread across the foot of the bed.

  It looked cozy and comfortable. Emily resisted the impulse to crawl inside.

  The nightstand had a stack of books, a cordless telephone in a base, and a clock radio. Her roaming gaze caught a professionally framed photo of Brandon on the wall. He stood in what appeared to be an end zone, his arms over his head, holding a football.

  She pointed at it. “You have the ball.”

  “I picked off Denver’s quarterback on a tip drill and ran it into the end zone last year.”

  “Good job, bruiser. That’s a touchdown, right?” He grinned at her as he nodded. “It’s nice in here,” she said.

  “There’s nothing pink or ruffly,” he said.

  “I could fix that for you.” Emily touched the quilt at the foot of his bed. “This is gorgeous.”

  “My grandma McKenna made it for me.” He indicated an open door on the other side of his room. “I had a jetted tub put in the bathroom last year.”

  The upstairs of Brandon’s house boasted two large skylights and the steepest staircase she’d ever encountered.

  “I sleep up here when my parents come to town. It’s easier for me to get up and down the stairs than it is for them. Dylan stays here, too.”

  There was more of the simple overstuffed furniture Brandon seemed to like, along with a window seat that showed off the gorgeous lake view. Emily spied an office and another half bath at the other side of what must have been a former attic.

  Emily heard a faint “Meow,” and a very large brown tabby cat jumped off the window seat to wind around Brandon’s ankles.

  “Hey, buddy.” He reached down and gave the cat a pat on the head. “Decided you’d wake up and join us. This is Deacon,” he explained. “He’s part of the reason Greg hangs around here. When I’m on the road, I don’t worry that he’s going to starve or run away.”

  “Interesting name for a cat.”

  “His name is really Deacon White, but we call him Deacon for short. Deacon White was the best defensive end to ever play the game, sugar.”

  Emily tapped one finger on her chin. “So, he played the same position you do.”

  “You get a gold star for that football knowledge. I’m proud of you.” He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. She reached out for his hand, while inching her other hand toward the cat.

  “Maybe he’ll let me pet him.”

  “You might want to rethink that. He’s ferocious.” Nothing could have been further from the truth. Deacon stood on his hind legs and pawed at her. He wanted to be picked up.

  “I want to have a pet, but I’m gone so much, it would never work,” she said. Deacon cuddled against her, and with a soft “Mew” he laid his head on Emily’s cheek.

  “Hey, Deacon, back off. Get your own woman.”

  “Does he sleep in your room?”

  “Of course not,” he smirked. Emily remembered the plush cat bed in one corner of Brandon’s bedroom.

  Deacon rubbed his face against Emily’s.

  “I get a woman in my house, and the first thing she does is go for the cat,” Brandon said.

  Emily set the cat down on the floor, and Deacon regarded her with an injured expression in his amber eyes. “I know. I’ll be back another time,” she told him. She glanced up at his owner. “We probably need to leave for Damian’s.” They descended the stairs, and she picked up her handbag. “Maybe I should drive.”

  “We don’t need the car.”

  “He must be close,” Emily said as they walked outside.

  “You could say that. He’s right across the street.”

  Emily glanced up, spotting Damian standing on a deck that overlooked Brandon’s house.

  “Hey, dawg,” Damian shouted. “Get your ass over here or the steak’s going to burn. Hey, pretty lady.”

  Emily waved at him in response.

  He continued talking as they made their way across the street. “I got some tickets to go see you in that—what the hell is it—Der, die, something.”

  “Die Fledermaus,” she explained. “You’re going to Cincinnati? That’s wonderful.” Emily clapped her hands.

  Damian pulled the front door open as Emily and Brandon reached the doorstep and threw his arms around her. “There she is.”

  She hugged him back. “It’s good to see you, too. I can’t believe you’ll be at the performances in Cincinnati!”

  “It’s really hard to get tickets to see you perform around here now,” Damian complained.

  “I’m not singing here till later in the season, but I could get you some tickets to one of Seattle Opera’s upcoming performances. It’s not Die Fledermaus, but you might like it.”

  “I want to go if you’re singing,” Damian assured her.

  “I’m standing here. Stop trying to pick up on my fiancée,” Brandon told him.

  “He sounds jealous,” she murmured to Damian.

  “Damn straight,
love.” Damian did an elaborate handshake with Brandon. He turned to Emily again, and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Maybe you should go out with me instead. I’ll hook you up. Cornerbacks and safeties are the real men of any football team. He must have told you this.”

  “He’s getting mad,” Emily said.

  “He knows I speak the truth, baby.”

  Brandon rolled his eyes. “I hope you invited the young lady you were flirting with yesterday at lunch,” he said.

  “Of course I did. She should be here soon. In the meantime I have to chat with my pretty lady. Listen, girl, I bought some of those opera beats you told me about. They’re sick.”

  Brandon took Emily’s hand, tugged her over to the couch, and pulled her onto his lap. Damian laughed, and went out onto the deck to check the food on the grill.

  Emily looped one arm around his neck. “Should I ask him if I can help with anything?”

  “No.”

  Damian’s house made Brandon’s look tiny. The front door led into a soaring entryway with a large crystal chandelier. The living room was up a flight of stairs, and opened onto the deck, which had the same view Brandon’s did. Damian’s living room appeared big enough to park a Humvee in. The décor was formal, and appeared to be done by a professional. It was beautiful, but Emily preferred the simplicity and coziness of Brandon’s house.

  Two men and two women in server garb emerged from the kitchen with trays of food, arranging the platters on a long table set up against the far wall. One of the women approached Brandon and Emily for a drink order.

  “Hey, Damian,” Brandon called out. “You said this was just us.”

  “Gotta’ feed everyone.”

  “He caters a backyard barbecue,” Brandon muttered. “Now everyone will expect me to do it, too.”

  “What does he mean by ‘everyone’?” she said into Brandon’s ear.

  “Let’s find out. Drake,” Brandon called out, “How many is ‘everyone’?”

  “Dawg, everyone.”

  Brandon let out a groan. “He invited the team, along with whoever it is they’re married to or going out with. You’ll probably see an awful lot of single women.”