“I’m glad to be here,” she said, smiling up at me.
“I’m glad you’re here too,” I answered her, swiping a lock of hair that had fallen from her ponytail back behind her ear. “Let’s get out of here.” She started walking to the exit, but I tugged her back.
“Don’t we need to get your luggage?” I asked, curious, gesturing to the baggage carousel. She lifted her arm slightly, and I noticed the rolling carry-on she had.
“I’ve got it. I didn’t want to be held up with waiting on my luggage,” she replied. I must have looked surprised, because she said, “What?”
“How long are you staying again?” I asked, thinking I must have gotten the time-frame wrong.
“Two weeks,” she said. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“That’s all the luggage you brought for two weeks?” I asked, stunned. I’d just watched my parents check four large suitcases between the two of them. Any one of theirs was at least twice the size of her one.
“I pack light,” she answered, with a grin. “I’m also starving.”
“Why am I not surprised by that?” I said, gesturing to the doors. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”
Sophie decided to drive, not trusting my good arm to drive us. We stopped at a drive-thru and wound up eating in the car. I didn’t want to risk being seen, and she didn’t want to wait till we got home to eat.
“Already with the junk food,” I teased her, as I shoved a double cheeseburger in my mouth. “You’re a terrible influence.”
“You love it,” she mumbled, around a bite of her own.
“How was the end of the semester?” I asked. We’d spoken several times over the past couple weeks, but the conversations had revolved around me, primarily.
She laughed, “Quite a few will be repeating the class.” She shook her head. “I’m not a difficult teacher, but they don’t take it seriously. Most of them don’t bother coming to class, half the time.”
“But you have a summer class, right? That’s why you have to be back,” I said, grabbing some fries.
“Yeah, it’s really a workshop—a creative writing workshop. I’m excited about it. Last summer, it was amazing,” she told me enthusiastically, before slapping my hand away from her fries.
“You really should be teaching creative writing full time. You should see how excited you get when you talk about it,” I told her, enjoying the blush climbing her cheeks.
“Eventually,” she muttered, keeping her head down. “So what’s our plan?” she asked changing the subject. She gestured to my arm. “You’ve got rehab every day, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, letting her direct the conversation. “The mornings are devoted to rehab, the afternoons to workouts. I can’t do everything I did before, but I’m determined to be stronger than I was,” I told her, my eyes narrowing. I’d read up on other athletes that had been injured and come back. There were a few, one in particular, that had the same injury as me. If he could come back from an injury like this, and lead his team to a Super Bowl victory, so could I.
I noticed Sophie looking at my chest, so I glanced down, thinking I had ketchup on me. I didn’t see anything, so I raised my eyebrow at her, when I caught her eye. She flushed, but didn’t break eye contact. “I’m trying to picture you stronger than I remember,” she finally said. “It’s hard.”
“That’s what she said,” I said, before I could stop myself. Sophie looked at me for a second before throwing her head back and laughing. I chuckled, enjoying her laughter.
“Good to know you’re still disgusting” she told me, grinning. She gathered our trash and hopped out of the SUV, throwing it away in a nearby trash can. “Anywhere we need to go before we head home?” she asked me, backing out of the parking space.
I was caught by her words, and how it felt right, hearing her refer to my house as home. I realized she was waiting for me to answer, before she pulled out of the parking lot. “No, I’ve got everything we need at home,” I told her, attempting to hide my distraction.
Once we got home, she immediately jumped out and headed to the fridge in the garage. She grabbed the bag of peppermint patties, as I pulled her carry-on out of the back.
“Should you be doing that?” she asked, hurrying over to me.
“Yes, I’m not helpless,” I griped to her. “I can carry your bag. It’s not like I’m using my bad shoulder.”
“Fine then,” she sassed back. “See if I share any of my peppermint patties with you.”
“Technically, they’re mine,” I told her, fighting a smile.
“Finders keepers, losers weepers,” she sang back at me, heading into the house. I followed behind, watching her butt sway. She had a narrow waist that flared out into a beautiful rear, creating an hourglass shape I was presently enjoying.
“Holy smokes,” I heard, as I shut the door behind us. I followed her gaze to the windows. “I had no idea the view was so amazing.”
“Yeah, the snow messed that up,” I replied, heading to the room she had last time. I set her luggage down in there, before going back to the living room. She was glued to the window overlooking the mountains. I guess I’d gotten used to the view, but seeing her amazement reminded me of how incredible it was.
The house was tucked onto the side of the mountain, a valley spread out below, allowing an open view of the mountain range. The white-capped mountains in the distance, along with the gorgeous green of the trees pulled the eye in. Clouds raced in front of the sun, causing shadows to play over the valley below us. The view seemed to go on forever.
“It’s incredible,” she said, her voice hushed. I nodded in agreement. There was no view like this in Texas. “This is the only time I miss Colorado. When I see a view like this and breathe in the crisp air,” she said, looking at me. She gave a soft laugh, “The air in the South is like trying to breathe in hot water.”
I laughed with her, because she nailed it. The humidity back home was so bad, that breathing felt like work sometimes.
“Well you have the next two weeks to enjoy it,” I told her, smiling.
Sophie
Chapter Twelve
We settled into a routine quickly. I dropped him off at the rehabilitation clinic, before running errands in the morning. Sometimes I’d stay, but it was difficult to watch, because the process was painful for Colt. I thought he was relieved when I didn’t stay, so I tried to find things to do, while he was in rehab.
I dropped in to visit my sister, a couple days after I arrived. I hadn’t told them I was coming, but I knew avoiding them, while I was there, would bite me on the ass later.
“Hey, I wondered if you wanted to grab lunch?” I asked, staring at the top of her head. She slowly looked up in shock, before pushing out of her seat and coming around to hug me. I felt the press of her pregnant belly against my own stomach and I smiled, glad I’d come. I couldn’t be here for my sister’s entire pregnancy, but at least I’d get to experience some of it.
“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call? I would have gotten you from the airport. Where’s your luggage? Where are you staying? How long are you here? The whole summer??” She spewed rapid fire questions at me, her excitement causing her to stumble over them. I stared at her, bemused, until she finally stopped.
“I thought I’d surprise you. I’m staying with Colt. And no, I can’t stay the whole summer. Just the next two weeks,” I told her, with a regretful shake of my head.
“Oh,” she said, with knowing voice. “With Colt, huh?” Her tone conveyed far more than her words.
“Yes,” I admitted shortly, not wanting to get into it. I’d flown out here with no expectations. The future would create itself, but my sister, and by extension my family, believed in a specific pattern to how things worked out. Boy meets girl, likes girl, dates girl, tells girl he loves her, asks girl to marry him, marries girl, has a baby with girl, they live happily ever after.
That’s how all of the relationships had worked in my family. I wasn’t sure my futu
re would look like that though. I didn’t know if I wanted it to.
“Do you want to go to lunch or not? I need to pick Colt up from rehab by one,” I told Michelle, changing the subject with zero grace.
“Of course,” she chirped, not in the least put off by my tone. She grabbed her purse and said, “I’m always hungry. Let’s go to the sub shop up the street. I want a meatball sub. Don’t mention it to Patrick. He seems to think my obsession with meatball subs is unhealthy. I told him, standing in the way of me eating one, would be unhealthy for him.”
I couldn’t help smiling, as she pulled me along, chattering. I did miss my family on occasion. Especially when picturing my pregnant sister going toe to toe with her husband, Patrick, over a meatball sub.
She waited till I took a bite of my sandwich, before springing it on me.
“You’ll be coming to Sunday dinner, right? And bringing Colt?” she inquired with a smile, as I choked. It took a minute for me to get my coughing under control. I glared at her, as I took a sip of water. I should have anticipated something like this.
“I’m not sure. Colt might not want to come to dinner,” I told her, with a shrug. I winced internally at the lie. Anytime Michelle wanted something, I felt the need to be contrary.
Colt had already asked if he could join me when my family got together. Apparently, he’d developed a bromance with my brother, Mark, and felt this entitled him to family time. I avoided her stare, as she raised her eyebrow at me. I had a feeling she had been talking to Mark.
“Really? Odd, because Mark told me to make sure and ask you. Sounded like he and Colt had talked about it already,” She told me, knowingly. Of course they had. I swear men gossip worse than women.
“I’ll check with him. If he wants to come, I’ll bring him.”
“Good. We’re meeting at Dad’s at twelve. Bring brownies,” Michelle commanded, completely ignoring my words. I sighed, frowning at her. Michelle could reduce me to a glowering child with a few words.
“Eat your sandwich before I do,” she said, gesturing to my half eaten sub. I hurried up and started eating. She was not joking around. I saw her eyeing my cookie too, so I slid it off the table into my purse.
I pulled up to the clinic and saw Colt waiting outside. He slid into the passenger seat, giving me a grin.
“We’re going to your Dad’s on Sunday?” he said, pulling the door shut.
“How? How do you know this already?” I asked, baffled. I was raised with Michelle, but this was impressive, even for her. I had literally just left her less than ten minutes ago. I knew I hadn’t seen her texting, while we were together.
“Mark texted me. Said Michelle talked to you at lunch,” He answered guilelessly. “Did you bring me a sub?” he asked hopefully. I dropped my head onto the steering wheel, while pointing to the back seat where his Philly cheesesteak was.
“Sweet!” he exclaimed, reaching for it. I pulled myself together, and started driving home. I should never underestimate my sister.
“SOPHIE!” I heard the bellow, as I was sitting on the couch, writing. My heart gave a thump and started racing, as I ran to Colt’s room. He was planning to take a shower, and all I could think was he fell and hurt his shoulder. I didn’t see him in the bedroom, so I busted into the bathroom. The sight of Colt froze me on the spot, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop my laughter.
“It’s not funny,” he growled, pinning me with a glare.
“Oh it is” I disagreed, watching him struggle.
“Are you going to help me?” he demanded, growling.
Colt had taken to wearing button up shirts and sweatpants, to make it easy to get dressed with his shoulder. Somehow, he had gotten his arm twisted in the shirt, when he was pulling it off. His arm was stuck behind him, effectively trapping him. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, but I had to stop and admire his taut chest muscles.
“Anytime you want to stop staring and start helping would be great,” he muttered, glaring at me.
“Admiring the view,” I told him, with a wink. I reached for the arm twisted behind his back and saw the problem. His shirt had gotten caught on his watch. I removed his watch, untangling it from the sleeve, and pulled his arm through. He rotated his shoulder and groaned.
“Thank you. I was starting to think this shoulder would need surgery too,” he said, as I walked around him and pulled the shirt off his bad arm.
“That’s what I’m here for. To save the day,” I replied with a grin, as I patted that irresistible chest. His skin felt like hot silk wrapped around steel, and I resisted the urge to stroke him.
I noticed the steam in the room for the first time. Obviously, he’d turned the shower on before stripping. He reached down and hooked a thumb under the waist of his pants, drawing my eye to the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath them.
“Care to join me?” he asked, with a smirk. “I could use help scrubbing my back,” He tugged the pants a little lower, revealing more of the deep V created by his lower abdominals.
I pulled my gaze away from the enticing sight and said, “I think you can handle it, big guy.”
I turned and left the bathroom, hoping my exit looked more like a sexy sashay and less like I was fleeing for my life.
I finally took a deep breath when I got to the kitchen. That man exuded sex appeal at a level that would make the most adamant man-hater melt into a puddle of willingness. And I was not a man-hater. In fact, I wondered why I hadn’t taken him up on his offer. Even with a bum shoulder, I knew he’d be better than anyone that had come before him.
I remembered back to a night with my mom, when I was fifteen. I’d started dating a guy and wondered about bases and sex. Mom, Michelle and I wound up in the kitchen, discussing what constitutes a base, and how long they’d waited.
“I’m going to tell you right now, forget the cow,” Mom told us, pulling out a pan to make brownies.
“What?” Michelle shrieked, laughing. I started giggling, before I even asked, “Are you talking about giving the milk away for free?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she answered, pointing a wooden spoon at me.
“Mom!” Michelle and I both said, looking at each other.
“It’s your body, and if you want a little sausage, have a little sausage,” Mom said bluntly, mixing ingredients in a bowl.
“Oh my God!” we shrieked, giggling like crazy. We held each other up against the bar, we were laughing so hard. “Are you saying sex is okay? Even before marriage?” I demanded to know.
“Yes. In fact, I encourage it. Sex matters in a marriage. Never wind up with someone that doesn’t turn you on,” she said, as she stirred the batter. “But know what you’re doing and why. Don’t have sex to make someone love you, or to try and keep them. If you love each other, the sex will only get better. If it’s lust, it’ll burn bright, be hotter than hell, and be gone faster than a shooting star.”
We quieted down, listening to her. “How do you know the difference?” I asked her. “The difference between lust and love?” Michelle looked between us, nodding her head, wanting to know the answer too.
“Love will wait. Lust won’t. Lust demands instant gratification, and it won’t survive when it’s denied. Love will grow and burn hotter as it waits. It’s patient,” She answered, sliding the brownies in the oven. “We can lick the brownie batter off the spoon, or we can wait until the brownies cook and enjoy them as they’re meant to be. Both are good, but which is better?”
“Brownies from the oven,” we answered, in unison.
“I agree,” Mom said with a smile. “You can try it both ways and see which is better, but once you know, it’s hard to go back. Show a little patience, and watch what develops. When he matters, you can wait.”
A few days later, I was watching Colt hold a one-armed plank. I was trying not to drool at the sight, when he got a call from his agent. I could immediately tell it was not going to be a pleasant call, as I watched him pace the living room, snarling
into the phone. I decided to make a double chocolate fudge Bundt cake. Whatever was going on with that phone call, he could probably use it.
It was over an hour later, before he finally got off the phone. I knew, because he flung his phone across the room and watched as it shattered into the fireplace.
I sliced the cake and poured milk into glasses. I brought everything to the coffee table in the living room. Colt was breathing heavily, as he clenched and unclenched his fist. He looked down at me, and if it’d been anyone else, the look in his eye would have frightened me.
Instead, I lifted the plate and said, “Cake?” He closed his eyes briefly, calming down before settling on the floor next to me and taking the cake. He took a bite of the cake and gave a slight moan.
“It’s good,” he admitted grudgingly, finishing the cake off and downing his milk.
“I know,” I said, matter-of-factly. He gave me a lopsided smile, at my confidence. I waited for him to tell me what he’d been arguing about with his agent.
“There’s a good chance the team is gonna release me,” he finally said, his voice low and rough.
“What?” I exclaimed. I figured it was bad news, but it never occurred to me he might not have a team to go back to when he healed. “But rehab is going great. You’re going to come back better. The doctors can’t believe your recovery.”
“It’s a risk keeping me. They can cut me loose and find a quarterback that doesn’t have an injury,” he said quietly. He shook his head and slammed his fist on the table. “You know what burns me? They didn’t have the guts to come to me. They fucking hid behind my agent,” He growled at me, anger tight on his face. “I showed up every day. I made that my team. And they’re going to sit back and think about if they want to keep me? Not even talk to me. My own GM and coach. After everything.”
I winced in sympathy. His face was tight, and I saw his jaw clench. I didn’t understand what it was like to be a part of a team, but I imagined it was a brotherhood of sorts. The fact that none of his teammates had been by to visit hadn’t escaped me.
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