“It was going off the entire time I was walking through the airport,” he said. “You’re popular.”
He glanced around her house while he attempted to come up with something dazzling to say. She liked medium blues and celery green. The somewhat formal furniture in her living room flowed into a more casual dining area, bathed in sunlight. The flowers he’d brought would look perfect in the vase on her table. She bit her lip a little, as if she didn’t know what to say. At least she hadn’t said, “Go away.”
“Nice place,” he said.
“Thank you.” She sniffed her flowers again. “I . . . I can’t believe you’re here.”
He took a step toward her and bent down to kiss her cheek. “I wanted to see you again.”
She moved closer to him and tipped her head back to look into his eyes. “Me too,” she said.
If she told him to leave, he would. He wanted a date with this woman more than he’d wanted anything else for a long time now, but he’d really rolled the dice by showing up at her house. The next few minutes were up to her: If she didn’t want him here, he’d get in the car, go back to the airport, and call her five minutes after he retired from the league.
The calm, coolly sophisticated Kendall seemed to be struggling to think of something to say at the moment, but she reached out for his hand.
“Would you like to have a glass of wine with me?”
He nodded as he clasped her smaller, softer hand in his.
KENDALL COULDN’T FIND the wine opener. She usually put it in the silverware drawer. For some reason it wasn’t there. She rifled through the drawer, looking under the silverware holder and moving the other utensils and odds and ends around to look for it. She found an unopened package of crackers in the pantry and sliced some cheese to arrange on a plate with some fresh raspberries for a snack, but the wine opener was nowhere to be found. Drew was lounging against the counter in her kitchen.
Maybe she should rephrase that. The most attractive thing in her kitchen right now had braced one hip against the counter and was watching her while she hunted around for the wine opener. A heathery pullover sweater and a pair of oft-washed jeans looked like designer fashion on him. His long blond hair was tied back with a piece of leather. His eyes were impossibly blue. He was beautiful on the outside, but she wondered what other enticements she’d find when she talked with him a little more.
“What are you looking for? Is there anything I can do to help?” he said.
“I can’t find the corkscrew. I know it was in here. I—”
He held up the corkscrew. “How’s this?” The gentle amusement in his eyes made her breath hitch.
“Y-yes. Where was it?”
“You must have left it over here before you answered the door.”
She rolled her eyes a little, and he reached out for the plate of food.
“I’ll carry that. Would you like me to grab a couple of glasses?” He pulled a few paper napkins out of the holder she kept on the kitchen counter.
“Sure.”
She picked up the now-opened wine bottle and followed him out to the small backyard. Birds were chirping. The heat of late afternoon was softened somewhat by a mild breeze. She could smell the neighbor’s orange blossoms. He held the lawn chair she sat down in like it was an antique.
“Maybe I should get a plate or two—”
She started to rise from her chair and he said, “We don’t need plates to eat finger food, do we? You had a long day. Relax.” He poured her a glass of wine, poured one for himself, and touched the rim of his glass to hers. “Cheers.”
Her day hadn’t been especially long, but she wasn’t going to argue with him about it.
“Cheers,” she said.
The wine was tart, fruity, and perfect in the California heat. He put his glass down long enough to put a slice of cheese atop a cracker and held it out to her.
“Aren’t I supposed to be serving you?” she said.
“It’s good to make myself useful,” he said. “What were you planning on doing tonight before I dropped in?”
“I was about to start searching the bushes outside to see if the delivery guy was here earlier and hid my phone. I didn’t get the shipment tracking number,” she said, but she smiled.
“So, you’ll forgive me for delivering the phone myself?”
“I’ll consider it,” she said. “Haven’t you had a long day today also?”
“I got checked out by a trainer and left by noon,” he said. “I don’t have to be back until Wednesday morning at seven AM or so.” He took another sip from his glass. “I’m not typically a wine guy, but I’m enjoying this.” He picked up the bottle and noted the label.
“It’s not expensive, but it’s delicious.”
She moved forward in her chair to pour herself another glass of wine, poured a bit more into his glass, and set the bottle down on the table. She reached out for another cracker and a piece of cheese. Silence fell between them as she nibbled on the snack. He helped himself to a few perfectly ripe and juicy raspberries.
She fidgeted a little and took another sip of wine.
“Drew,” she said. “We can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
She twirled the stem of her wineglass in her fingertips.
“I could deal with the fact our teams hate each other. If we dated each other, it would be bad, but survivable.” She looked into his eyes. “People would talk about me, they’d talk about you, and it would be embarrassing. That’s not the worst, though.”
He reached out for her hand. She let him take it. He saw her try to smile, to soften the blow, but her lips trembled. “The Miners are going after you in free agency. If Mr. Curtis doesn’t manage to survive the SEC investigation, you’d be working for me until they hire someone else for the GM job. Any romantic involvement between us would be considered sexual harassment. You could sue the team, and I’d lose my job.”
“What if I don’t want to sue the team?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He turned to face her. She was still holding his hand. “My agent’s going to do the talking, Kendall, but I want to stay in Seattle.”
“We’re waving a lot of money around—”
“So it’s already being discussed.”
“At the highest levels, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that confidential,” she said.
“I’m not going anywhere unless I’m offered stupid money. My agent will be asking for top five defensive players in the league money.”
“By the way, we never had this discussion,” she said.
“Got it,” he said. Her palm was a little damp. He knew how much she was risking by telling him this, but part of him was just pissed off. He wanted her. He couldn’t give up quite so easily, but she’d outlined exactly why he should walk out of her house, get in the car, and fly back to Seattle without a second thought. “Why is your organization spending so much on a defensive free agent when what they should be doing is beefing up the offensive line so your quarterback doesn’t get killed out there every Sunday? That’s insane.”
“Our owner wants to make a huge splash in free agency—”
“So go after New England’s left tackle. He’s the best in the league. He’s going to cost you some money, but you can get three or four very good players for what I’d want to leave Seattle. You can grab some other offensive linemen through the draft, and your offense will look much better within a couple of seasons as a result.”
“Don’t you care about a huge contract?”
“I make three times as much from endorsements now as I do playing football. I’m getting paid, but I want great guys around me too. If you break the bank on one player and he gets hurt, your season goes to shit.” He consciously lowered his voice. “You know this. What the hell’s going on in your front office, anyway?”
She took another sip of wine. “You don’t want to know.”
“Of course I do.” He layered a piece of cheese on a cracker, stuffed it into his mouth, a
nd chewed while he thought. “Let me guess. Everyone’s freaking out at the idea your owner may end up in prison.”
She didn’t respond. She seemed lost in thought. Maybe the best thing to do was to change the subject. He brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. A few seconds later, her mouth curved into a smile.
“How about dinner?” he said.
“Right now?”
“Whenever you’re hungry. I haven’t been in the neighborhood since college, so I might need a pointer or two about restaurants.”
A cute little wrinkle formed between her eyes when she was worried about something. “There’s just one problem,” she said.
He tried to appear casual while bracing himself.
“Someone’s going to recognize you if we leave my house.”
His exterior was cool while his innards were doing the little kid on Christmas morning dance. He’d expected her to ask when he had to be at the airport to fly home, or why he’d persisted when she told him she didn’t think they should date at all. Instead, she was accepting his offer.
“It might happen,” he said.
He had played for and graduated from UCLA, and a few alumni recognized him in the San Jose airport earlier. People recognized him when he went home to Wisconsin, when he was at the local grocery store picking up a half-gallon of milk and a loaf of bread in Bellevue, and anywhere else people owned a TV that showed commercials for one of the products he endorsed. They were typically nice and he was flattered, but he’d prefer spending some time alone with her tonight. Being seen together in public (and being recognized) would be disastrous for Kendall.
“It will happen,” she said.
“Maybe we should order a pizza or something, then,” he said.
To his surprise, she grinned. “You grew up here, didn’t you? I thought you’d suggest In-N-Out. I know a little something about the secret menu.”
“I grew up in Wisconsin. You probably already know I went to UCLA.”
She gave him a nod and a mischievous smile.
“I went to Wharton in San Francisco, but my brother worked at In-N-Out during high school. He used to bring food home a lot.”
“So, you know all about the Double-Double Animal Style,” he said.
The sweet sound of her laughter rang out. He had to laugh too. He never dreamed they’d bond over their shared love for a fast-food place Californians revered. Guys who had game didn’t take a stylish and sophisticated woman to a burger place on their second date, but he was happy to know she wouldn’t object to it.
“And the root beer float. You’re not dealing with an amateur here,” she said. She took another sip of wine and put her glass back down on the table. “I was planning on a big salad and maybe some garlic bread for dinner tonight. I could go to the store and get some steak—”
“Salad sounds great. What can I do to help?”
“You’re going to need more food than that,” she protested.
“We’ll make it work.”
He popped another raspberry into his mouth and almost choked on it when she said, “What time is your flight back to Seattle?”
He managed to swallow the little piece of fruit, gazed into her eyes, and said, “What time would you like it to be?”
Chapter Six
* * *
KENDALL COULDN’T SEEM to let go of Drew’s bigger, rougher hand. She’d told him they shouldn’t date. She was risking public and professional humiliation by even talking with him. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to leave. The guy had dropped everything to get on a plane. Anyone else kind enough to return her iPhone would have taken it to the nearest overnight mailing facility, paid the fee, and sent her the tracking information via e-mail or text instead of buying a last-minute airline ticket.
The phone was a convenient excuse, and they both knew it. She should be worried about the difficult to resist energy between them, but instead, all she could think was this is the most romantic thing any man has done for me.
She was in over her head already. She kept telling him this couldn’t happen, but she wasn’t convincing herself of that fact.
“The last flight to Seattle is at eight this evening.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and consulted the screen. “I could still buy a ticket—”
“I don’t want you to,” she blurted out, and she barely resisted slapping her hand over her mouth.
If he stayed, they would sleep together, and saying goodbye to him again would be worse. But she couldn’t stand the thought of his leaving. He’d just gotten here. The part of her that was so fixated on getting him out of her hotel room was gone, or at the very least, silenced temporarily.
He tried to hide his smile while blotting his mouth with a napkin. “Maybe I should look for a morning flight instead?”
She bit her lip and nodded. Despite her behavior in that hotel room, she wasn’t really into one-night stands. She wasn’t altogether sure about “friends with benefits,” either. She’d prefer someone she could develop a relationship with. That could never be Drew. Despite all of her misgivings, however, she knew she was going to sleep with him tonight.
He glanced at his phone again, but not fast enough to hide the hungry expression in his eyes. He had more on his mind than dinner. He scrolled down the screen of his smart phone with a fingertip. “Here’s a flight for six-thirty in the morning.”
She tried to focus on the discussion at hand while her cheeks got hot. If the evening went as well as she hoped it would, she wasn’t going to want to pull herself out of bed to get him to the airport by four-thirty AM.
“That’s too early,” she said. She grabbed her phone, hit a few buttons, and said, “How about eight-thirty? It’s early enough so that you’ll still be able to enjoy your day off.”
“I’m enjoying myself right now, Kendall.” His eyes caught and held hers.
“I’m enjoying myself too.” She knew she was still blushing, and she tried to ignore the rush of excitement in her belly. She also knew she might as well have been wearing a sign saying you’re getting laid tonight. She hit more buttons on her phone. “Let me buy your plane ticket home. You did me a huge favor—”
“I did it because I wanted to. I’d do it again. Thank you, but it’s on me.” He touched a few more buttons on his smart phone’s screen and said, “I have a confirmation and I’m already checked in for the flight.” He got to his feet and helped her up. “Let’s see what we can come up with for dinner.”
Instead of parking himself on a kitchen stool while she assembled food, he pushed up his sleeves, washed his hands, and asked, “What would you like me to do?”
“You’re the guest,” she insisted. “Why don’t you sit down and take it easy?”
“Later,” he said. “It’ll get done faster if I help.”
“Are you too good to be true?”
“No,” he said, but he grinned. “My mom taught me a long time ago that pitching in is always best.”
Kendall defrosted a couple of chicken breasts in the microwave and put them into a glass baking pan, drizzling them with olive oil and garlic powder before sliding them into the oven. Maybe she should add some more vegetables or something. Drew probably ate a lot more than a chicken breast and some salad at each meal.
“Is this going to be enough? Maybe I should steam some vegetables or bake a potato for you,” she said.
She was enjoying sharing the simple tasks she carried out each day with him—two people making their way around a kitchen, assembling a meal. She knew asking him to stay wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had. Additional involvement with a guy she shouldn’t be involved with in the first place wasn’t a terrific plan, but she couldn’t seem to help herself right now.
Spending the night with Drew was a one-night guilty pleasure. She’d get him out of her system. Other women did this kind of thing all the time. It was her turn.
“Do you have any food allergies I should know about?” she said.
She hadn’t shared her kitchen with anyone else since Tony and felt a twinge of embarrassment at the thought. She reminded herself that according to everything she’d ever read or heard about him, Drew didn’t have a wife and a couple of kids in Connecticut.
“No food allergies. Well, I’m not especially fond of wasabi,” he said.
“Wasabi?”
“One of my college roommates loved the stuff and put it on everything.” He shuddered a little, and she had to smile. “Other than that, I’m easy.” She watched him rinse fresh spinach like he’d been doing it his entire life and add it to the salad bowl she’d put out for him. “And this is plenty of food.”
“Do you enjoy cooking?”
“Sometimes. I’m more of a fan of eating, but my mom insisted that I learn to make the basics before she turned me loose.” He crossed the kitchen to her refrigerator and said, “Mind if I look in here for salad stuff?”
“That would be great,” she said.
He opened the door, pulled out ingredients, and stacked them on the kitchen island.
“Let’s see here,” he said, grabbing a chopping knife out of the block. “I’ll put some sliced mushrooms and some other stuff in here, and I can cut up some avocado just before we’re ready to eat. How about a few more raspberries?”
“Of course.” She handed him the container from the refrigerator. “What else do you know how to make?”
He put the knife down to grin at her. “Meatloaf, spaghetti, toasted cheese sandwiches, and my dad taught me how to grill a steak. I’m also excellent at takeout.” She had to laugh at that. “I have a chef five days a week during the season, but the rest of the time, I’m on my own.”
“You have a chef?” It wasn’t unheard of among league veterans, but she was still a little surprised.
“Let’s just say he takes care of the nutritional stuff I need while I’m playing,” he said. “I go to the practice facility to eat too.”
“What’s the last thing you cooked for yourself?”
He chuckled a little. “Does heating up pizza count? A couple of my teammates dropped by the other night and brought me some.”
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