Covering Kendall

by Julie Brannagh

  “Did they invite themselves over?”

  “There was a little conversation earlier in the day about them visiting, but I . . . I got a better offer. They would have ditched me for coffee with a beautiful and interesting woman.”

  It wasn’t the first time in her life a man had called her beautiful, but his sweet, almost shy delivery of the word made her heart skip a beat. Maybe she should keep things light.

  “Does that happen a lot? The blowing them off part, or the getting a better offer part?” she teased.

  His cornflower-blue eyes held hers. “Nope. It doesn’t.” He took a deep breath. “I hope you don’t think I’m in the habit of routinely ditching my friends. They tend to drop in often. We didn’t have anything formal going, so I walked to the bookstore to get a little exercise. I thought I’d listen to the biographer guy for a few minutes before I went home. Then I met you.” He let that hang in the air for thirty seconds or so.

  If a six foot four inch, 250-pound man could be called “adorable,” Drew was it. He was a fascinating combination of warrior and Boy Scout. She’d seen his game tapes more than once. He’d beat his opponents on the football field to a bloody pulp and walk out of the stadium minutes afterward to tenderly help some little old lady across the street.

  She wanted him so much. Too bad she couldn’t have him. She’d make the most of tonight, and then she’d throw herself into her work to forget him.

  DREW FELT LIKE he was walking barefoot through a minefield. The pull he felt when she was near was almost irresistible. She was lovely, funny, smart, interesting—all the things he’d wished for in a woman and more. He wanted to find out more about her. She was determined to advance in a cut-throat industry and excel at a high-powered job, which meant the last thing she’d want to do with her time was have enough babies to fill up his huge house and have dinner on the table when he walked through the door each evening.

  He realized his expectations were ridiculous. It wasn’t that he thought the woman of his dreams should spend her days polishing his Pee-Wee football trophies. He wasn’t too much of a he-man to throw in a load of laundry or do the vacuuming. It took two to make a house a home. And yet, he really wanted someone who wanted a family and a home like the one he grew up in. He pictured a bunch of blond-haired kids filling up the silence in his big house with laughter and fun, a big dog cuddled up with all of them in the evenings while they watched TV or read or played games together. He saw Easters and Thanksgivings and Christmas mornings in his mind’s eye. He’d like to spend his weekends at his children’s soccer or T-ball games and have his and his wife’s friends over for a little barbecuing or a beer on Saturday nights.

  He also realized he was probably looking in the wrong places for the wife of his dreams. Women who wanted to focus on their families didn’t hang out in a corporate boardroom or the front office of a pro football franchise. Maybe he should try going to church or something to meet a potential mate. He wasn’t especially religious, and he was fairly sure his long hair would get him tagged as a “troublemaker” or worse in a big hurry, though. The imaginary women he might meet in the future paled in comparison to the one he was talking with right now.

  Kendall led him to her small backyard again. He spied a five-gallon bucket next to her sliding glass door with trowels, shears, and some well-worn gardening gloves he hadn’t noticed previously.

  “You must enjoy gardening,” he said.

  “I do,” she said, gesturing toward a small patch of flowers. “It’s not much, but it’s relaxing. There was nothing but dirt back here when I bought my house. I wanted to make something I’d enjoy seeing when I was doing the dishes.”

  “My mom did the same thing at our house. She talked my dad into putting in one of those gardening windows so she could grow herbs in the kitchen.” He smiled at the memory. “She was so proud of herself when she could use the herbs she grew in family meals.”

  “Speaking of meals, our scouting department was considering sending you a year’s worth of Kringle and brats as an enticement.” Racine, Wisconsin, was the home of Kringle—a butter-laden, multi-layered filled pastry as world-famous as New Orleans’ King Cake or the cheesecake of New York City.

  “I love brats, especially when they’re marinated in beer and grilled. I’m also pretty fond of Kringle. Maybe you could come over and help me eat them.”

  He saw her lips curve into a smile. “I might take you up on the Kringle. I had some the last time we were in Green Bay. It’s delicious.” The sun was setting, and she sat down on a glider in a small patch of shade. “Didn’t you want to play for Green Bay?”

  He sat down next to her, close enough to hold her hand. She didn’t resist.

  “I was drafted by Minnesota,” he said.

  “You could have asked for a trade.”

  “Yes, I could have, but I was happy there, and after the Sharks made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, I’ve been happy there too.”

  “Do you miss your family?”

  “Does a bear poop in the woods?” He laughed as he said it. “Yeah, I miss them. I go home for a few weeks when the season’s over each year, and they come and visit me when they can’t take the ice and snow anymore.” He watched the setting sun turn her pale skin to gold. “Is your family in the area?”

  “You might say that. My parents are in Southern California. My brother and sister and their families live on the East Coast.”

  “It must be tough at the holidays.”

  “We all meet up at my parents’ house for a week.” He was a little surprised she didn’t seem like she wanted to elaborate. He’d like to know something about her family. In the meantime, he wanted to keep the conversation light.

  “Well, that sounds fun. I usually have Christmas these days with some of the guys. It’s too hard for my family to all get out to the Seattle area.”

  “What do you all do instead?”

  “Zach Anderson and his wife, Cameron, invited us all over last year for Christmas lunch. We had to play three days before and she had to work, so we paid the chef that cooks for several of the guys during the season a little extra to make the holiday feast.”

  “I think I read about that.”

  “Her network brought cameras and filmed a story about it that was broadcast at halftime the Sunday after Christmas.” The memory of Cameron’s excitement at hosting the holiday gathering (and the obvious love and pride in her husband’s expression as he looked on) still made Drew smile.

  “You all went to Children’s Hospital later that day as well.”

  “Now THAT was fun. A few of the guys made a toy run the night before Christmas Eve, and we handed the stuff out. They made sure to get low-tech stuff like board games and Jenga so we could play with the kids for a little while. The boy I was playing Uno with has cancer, but I made him laugh. I made sure he got a few extra cookies too. I think it was the best Christmas I’ve had so far,” he said.

  The boy’s name was Nolan and he was Drew’s favorite Tuesday afternoon appointment these days. If Drew moved his ass tomorrow, he’d make it back to Seattle in time to stop at the hospital with a frosty Dick’s chocolate shake and maybe some French fries he smuggled in. Every time he went to visit now, Nolan wore the team logo hoodie Drew peeled off himself on Christmas Day and put on Nolan. It hung to the kid’s knees. They’d had to cut the sleeves to accommodate the IVs, but Nolan would be getting a brand-new one when he left the hospital.

  Drew found out Nolan’s mom was a single parent. She was having a tough time paying the rent while her son was in the fight of his life. Drew did a little scouting around and pre-paid her rent for a year—confidentially, of course.

  Kendall’s voice was gentle. “I’ve heard several of the Sharks go there every Tuesday afternoon.”

  He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. He wasn’t Mr. Emotional as a rule, but he saw his own nieces and nephews in every kid in those hospital beds. If spending a few hours every Tuesday afternoon visiting brightened their d
ay, he was happy to do it.

  “Yeah. Our QB takes one for the team every week. The media takes pictures of him, and a bunch of us sneak in through another entrance.”

  She leaned a little closer to him. “My parents thought I’d be a nurse.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I kept bandaging up my dolls. Being a nurse went out the window, though, when I figured out I couldn’t stand the sight of blood.”

  “That might be a problem.” He leaned closer to her. “I’ll save you from it.”

  “You will?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I specialize in rescuing women.”

  He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and dropped her hand to cup her cheek in his palm. She reached up to touch the tendrils of hair that escaped the elastic band he’d pulled it into to keep it out of his face.

  “It’s so soft,” she whispered.

  Her lips were trembling a bit with emotion. She moved a little closer to him and looked into his eyes as she touched and explored. Growing his hair out was now the best decision ever. He pulled in a breath and savored the tart, clean scent of green apples.

  “I want to run my fingers through it. Is that weird?” she said.

  He reached back and pulled the elastic band out of his ponytail. His hair spilled down his back and over his shoulder. He looped the elastic over his wrist.

  “Hell, no,” he said. “It’s all yours.”

  She bit her lower lip and reached out for him with both hands. Her fingers stroked his sun-warmed hair. It was thick, fine, and the length slid through her hands like liquid silk. His response was to pull her closer. By now, she was settled in his lap, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

  “Has everyone you’ve dated wanted to play with your hair?”

  “My ex-girlfriend didn’t like it when it wasn’t tied back. It got in her lip gloss.”

  “Maybe she should stop wearing lip gloss,” Kendall blurted out.

  He grinned at her. “I like how you think.”

  “No offense, but she’s crazy.” The laughter rolled out of him. She twirled a thick lock around her finger. “I can’t stop touching it.”

  He passed one big, gentle hand over her hair. “Your hair’s soft, and it smells like green apples.”

  “Long hair looks terrible on me.”

  “I don’t believe that,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you you look like Snow White?”

  “I tried out to be Snow White at Disneyland one summer. I couldn’t make it work with my current job,” she joked. She ran her fingertips over the stubble on his cheeks and chin. “Maybe another time.”

  “You know, the same thing happened when I auditioned for that movie—what was it? Thor?” he said. “They told me I worked out too much and they were going to have to pick some actor instead.” He pretended to let out a sigh, and she had to laugh. “Their loss. I guess I’ll just have to play football instead.”

  “Thor probably wants your job,” she said.

  “He has stunt people. I don’t.”

  HE MOVED CLOSER. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him. She was going to take him upstairs too. She was going to spend all night touching his hair because she couldn’t get enough. Tomorrow morning, she was going to watch him walk out of her house, and she was going to spend the next few years counting the minutes until he retired from the league.

  Talk about playing with fire. This was all kinds of stupid, but she couldn’t let go of him right now. She couldn’t have stopped if she tried. She was going to have to keep tonight a secret. And do her best to forget it when it was over to protect her heart.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  DREW CUPPED KENDALL’S face in his hands. Every time he looked at her, he was struck anew by the changeable gray of her eyes. Right now, they were the silver-gray of a winter’s dawn in Seattle. She’d probably laugh if he told her that, but he couldn’t think of anything else he’d ever seen that compared to the color.

  She was still holding strands of his hair and rubbing them between her fingertips. He’d grown his hair out for the hell of it when he was in college, and it was now part of his identity—that guy with the long hair that wasn’t the other guy in the dandruff shampoo commercials. He’d never met a woman who wanted to touch his hair like Kendall did, though, or run her fingers through it.

  “I want to kiss you,” he said.

  She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. She said she didn’t want to date him, they couldn’t get involved, but she was currently sitting in his lap with her fingers in his hair. He’d better ask a few more questions before they got physically involved. They were a little carried away already, but he wanted to make sure this was what she wanted to happen.

  “I want you to kiss me too,” she said.

  “You still don’t want to date me.”

  “Aren’t we on a date right now?”

  “There could be an argument made for that.”

  “Let’s kiss now and argue about it later.”

  “I love the way you think,” he said, and he brushed her mouth with his.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, fused her lips to his, and he felt her tongue slide into his mouth. She tasted like the wine, with a little tang from the raspberries. She’d tangled her fingers in his hair again. He slid his hand over her lower back and under the waistband of her pants. She was soft everywhere, and he was harder than nails right now.

  He’d always liked kissing. He wanted to take his time, tasting, touching, and discovering what a woman enjoyed. Every woman he’d ever kissed was like a treasure map; he sought out her secrets one at a time as he made his way. This one was currently rubbing up against him while she devoured him. He wasn’t objecting. Maybe they could try it his way in a little while. Right now, he was all for her doing whatever she’d like to him.

  “I think it’s a date now,” she murmured when they finally came up for air a while later. She was breathing heavily and flushed, with sparkling eyes and a big grin. “How hungry are you?”

  “For food, or for you?”

  “You’ve answered my question.” She hopped off of his lap. He saw her smile when she glanced down at him. “How do you feel about cold chicken sliced into the salad?”

  “What salad?” he joked, and she held out her hand to him.

  The beeping oven timer told them the food was done when they re-entered the kitchen. The baked chicken was put into an appropriate container and into the refrigerator for later.

  “It’s all set,” she told him.

  “I’m sure it’s delicious, but I have other things on my mind right now,” he said, pulling her into his arms again. “Where would you like to go?”

  “My room. It’s at the top of the stairs.”

  One of the better things about his job was that he could carry a woman up a flight of stairs without even breaking a sweat. After shoving tackling dummies and offensive linemen around a football field, a warm, sweet-smelling woman wasn’t a chore at all. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and laid her cheek against his.

  He walked through the doorway and halted in shock.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No. Not at all.” He couldn’t stop staring.

  Kendall’s room was nothing like the rest of her house. The only thing in common was sunshine streaming through windows covered with crisp cotton curtains and the feeling of comfort. Her living room furniture was formal. This room was vintage. Her bed was an old-fashioned four poster painted with turquoise blue enamel. The sheets were blinding white. Multiple pillows rested against the headboard. A framed close-up photograph of a riotously-colored bouquet of flowers hung above the headboard. A raspberry-colored patterned throw rug covered most of the hardwood floor.

  “It’s a little girly,” she said.

  “It looks comfortable, though,” he said.

  “I know you don’t sleep in a bed like this at home.”

  “Maybe I do,” he
joked.

  “I’m betting you have a huge bed, the color scheme is dark blue or earth tones, and you’d rather be run over than spend one minute of your time making sure fifteen decorative pillows are perfectly arranged every morning.”

  He walked over to the bed, lowered her onto it, and said, “We’d have to get out of it long enough to fix the pillows. I’m sure you can appreciate my dilemma right now.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He nodded at the headboard. “Do I put them on the bench at the foot of your bed like a good guest, or do I fling them all over the room and try to make it up to you later?”

  Her smile dazzled him as she arched her back and reached toward the headboard. The decorative pillows were off the bed seconds later and scattered all over her room.

  “How’s that?” she said.

  “Perfect,” he said. She pulled him down next to her, and he went willingly. The thuds of four shoes hitting the floor followed. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around her. They wriggled until they were both comfortable.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, smoothing the hair out of his eyes.

  The heat and the urgency of their kisses on the glider outside had transformed into a much slower seduction. His hands slid down her sides to cup her hips. She tucked the curtain of her dark hair behind one ear as she leaned forward to rub noses with him.

  “I’m happy too, Kendall, but I’m a little confused.”

  “Why?”

  “What you’ve said is true. We really can’t date. Someone’s going to find out, and it’s going to be hell to pay for both of us—”

  “You told me you’re not interested in the Miners.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “No matter how much money we offered you, what incentives are in your contract or that year’s worth of brats and Kringles I suggested—”

  “They might get a little further if they offered dinner with their interim GM.”

  “So in other words, I’m what you want,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said.