by Ryan, Kaylee
“I’m going to go lock up.” He jogs back to the door, makes sure it’s locked, and then jogs back to his SUV. He easily slides behind the wheel and looks over at me. “All right, what are we thinking for dinner?”
“I have food at my house. For me,” I add as an afterthought. “I can eat there.”
“I’m sure you can, but you need to stay off that ankle. Come on, let me buy you dinner.”
My stomach growls. Traitor. I don’t look at him because I know he heard it as well. “Fine, a drive-thru. Thank you,” I murmur the last part. What I don’t say is that I was taking a late lunch. I wasn’t hungry so I had planned to walk Buckwheat and then eat before checking on everything and closing for the day.
“You pick.”
“Anything. I’m not picky.”
“Really? So, what if I said I wanted a juicy burger and fries?”
My stomach growls again and my mouth waters. “I’d say add a large sweet tea and you’ve got a deal.” I can feel his eyes on me as we pull up to the Stop sign. I don’t dare look at him. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking right now.
He reaches for his phone, taps on the screen, and places it to his ear. “Hey, Harv. I need a to-go order please.” He rattles off three cheeseburgers deluxe, two orders of fries, and two large sweet teas. “Yeah, I know, but this is a special occasion.” He listens then says. “Thanks, Harv,” before ending the call.
We drive in silence for the next fifteen minutes, nothing but the low hum of the tires on the road filling the cab. I don’t know who Harv is or where he’s taking us, so when we pull up to the back entrance of a small bar not far from the stadium, my interest is piqued.
“I’ll be right back.”
I watch him as he goes to a back door, enters a code, and disappears inside. Where are we, and why does he have the code to get in? Not that it’s any of my business, but if this is some shady place of business, I should know, right? He did bring me here after all.
A few minutes later, he’s back and hands me a white paper bag that smells like heaven. “What is this place?” I ask, setting the bag on my lap.
“A bar. The owner, Harvey, he’s a fan of the Trojans. He has a back room, kind of an extension of the main bar area for the players. Only we have access. It’s a place we can go to kick back, have a beer, and not worry about the fans. Don’t get me wrong, we love our fans, but sometimes you just want to chill. I just want to be Landon Barker, not Landon, the Trojans QB. Harvey makes that happen.”
“That’s… nice of him.”
“Yeah, he’s done it for years. I take full advantage of it, and his food is melt-in-your-mouth good. This will be the best burger you’ve ever eaten.”
“I don’t know. I’ve had some pretty good burgers in my day. My dad is a machine when it comes to the grill.”
“I’m telling you. The best,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot. “So where are we headed?” he asks at the Stop sign.
“Make a left.” He does, and just like that, we’re headed to my place. We don’t talk unless it’s me giving him directions. Twenty minutes later, he’s pulling into my drive.
“Nice place,” he says, removing his keys from the ignition.
“It’s not much, but it’s mine,” I say defensively.
“Hey.” He reaches over and places his hand on my arm. “I wasn’t being rude or sarcastic. I meant it.” I hate that my defense is up with him. He’s just a regular guy who happens to get paid a lot of money for doing something he loves, and I must admit, damn good at. I love my home, and I’m not embarrassed by it. I need to chill. I’m letting his career, his fame cloud the man he is. The man who’s taking such good care of me. I nod and reach for the door handle, pushing the door open. “Stay put,” he says, climbing out of his SUV and rushing to my side. “I’ll come back for this.” He takes the bag from my hands and places it on the floorboard. “You got your keys?”
I fumble around in my purse, praying that they’re in there and not on my desk back at the shelter. Finally, I feel them and pull them out, holding them up for him. “Got ’em.”
“Okay. I’m going to go unlock the door and prop it open. You stay here. I’ll be right back to get you.”
“I can try and walk,” I counter, and he gives me a look that tells me to stay put. I go through my mind trying to remember if my house is a mess. I’m pretty sure everything is tidy, no bras lying around or anything like that. Don’t judge. I like to set the girls free once I’m in for the night. I often do that before I shower, so I can get dinner started. That is if I’m cooking. Anyway, I’m good. I think.
“Ready?” he asks, appearing before me. I nod reluctantly and take his hand, letting him help me from the SUV. Once I’m out, leg held in the air because the thought of putting pressure on my ankle hurts to even think about. I nod, and with very little effort, he’s got me in his arms and carries me inside. “The couch okay?” he asks.
“Yes. Thank you.” He sets me down and grabs a pillow from the other end. I watch as he reclines my section, and then places the pillow under my ankle. It’s odd to have him here in my home, in my space, and to have him taking care of me. He could have very easily just dropped me off, but instead, he’s making sure I’m comfortable. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“I’ll be right back.” He disappears outside, closing the door behind him. He’s barely gone when he’s pushing back through the front door. My purse, lunch bag, our drinks, and our food are in his hands. “Okay to just set these here?” he asks, pointing to the coffee table.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Here.” He hands me a tea. “It’s the best sweet tea you will ever drink.”
“I doubt that. I’m from Georgia. Nobody makes tea like they do in the South.”
“Just try it,” he urges.
Wanting to see what the fuss is all about and to prove him wrong, I place my straw in the cup and take a hefty drink. It’s good. “It’s good, but not Georgia good,” I tell him.
“How about it’s the best sweet tea on the West Coast?” He smirks.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I joke and he grins. “Now, what about this burger you raved about?”
“This one is yours, and here are your fries.”
“Thank you.” I place them on my lap, unwrap the burger, and take a big bite. My hand covers my mouth while I chew because I literally bit off more than I could chew, and he doesn’t need to see all that. “Oh my God,” I say when I finally swallow. “That’s incredible.”
“Told you. Want to know what else is incredible?” He doesn’t wait for my reply as he continues. “That you eat real food.”
“As opposed to eating fake food?” I ask, taking another bite.
He grins. “No, as opposed to ‘oh, just a salad for me,’” he says, pitching his voice to be more feminine.
“Umm… was that supposed to be me?”
“No, but that’s what I’m used to. Explain that to me. Why do women not eat in front of men? You have to eat to live, so… what gives?”
“I can only assume they’re nervous or trying to impress you. Me, on the other hand, I’m neither,” I say, taking another bite. If I thought he was being real about this “let me take you to dinner” thing, that it was more than just the chase, I might be nervous too. However, he’s not, and this is the only dinner he’s getting. I’ve seen the women on his arm, the models, the actresses. I’m nowhere in their league. That’s not a dig at myself, just stating the facts. He plays on and off the field, from what I’ve read, and I turned him down. I’m probably the only woman in America to do that. I’ve stunned his ego, so now he has to prove he can get me to say yes.
“Maybe that’s what it is,” he mutters.
“What?”
“I’m sure that’s what it is.”
We finish our burgers, his two to my one, and start on our fries. “Can you hand me my purse?” I ask. He does as I ask and places it next to me on the couch. Pulling out my wallet, I
grab a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and hand it to him.
“What’s that?” He looks at the ten-dollar bill as if it offended him.
“For dinner.”
“I’m not taking your money, Emma.”
“Please.” I try to bat my eyelashes to see if he’ll cave. No such luck.
“No. Put that away.” His voice is stone serious, which is not something I’m used to seeing with him, so I nod and put the ten back in my wallet.
“Thank you for dinner. Thank you for bringing me home, taking care of things at the shelter, all of it. Thank you, Landon.”
“Was that so hard?” he asks.
“And to think I was starting to believe you might not be that bad.”
“Hey, I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh, yeah, and what reputation is that?”
“With the ladies.” He bounces his eyebrows up and down and I try my best not to laugh, but I can’t hold it in.
“Laugh it up. Your boy’s got skills.”
“No. Just no,” I sputter with laughter. When I finally stop laughing, I finish off my fries and throw my trash in the bag. “That hit the spot, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gathers all of his trash, shoves it into the bag, and stands.
“Where are you going?” I ask, craning my neck to watch him as he walks into the kitchen.
“Looking for the trash can,” he calls back. A few minutes later, he’s back sans bag of trash, but holding an ice pack from the fridge and a towel from the drawer beside the stove. He places the towel over my ankle and the ice pack on top of it. “That okay?” He peers up at me.
“Thank you.” I admit I never expected this side of him. I had him labeled as rich and pretentious, not soft and caring. It’s a definite contrast to how I had him categorized in my mind. His taking care of me makes him more… endearing. It’s dangerous. I need to keep my wits about me. I can’t let one afternoon of being nice allow me to fall into line with the masses that fall at his feet.
He nods, steps over my legs with his long-ass ones, and takes his seat on the couch. “Now what?”
“Um, I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Want to watch a movie?”
“Don’t you have places to go and people to see or do?” I ask.
“Yes. I have to be here, and I have to see—” He pauses and glances down at my chest, before his eyes come back to my face. “—or do you.” He grins.
“You’ve been here, we had dinner, I let you pay, and I appreciate your help, but I’ve got it from here.”
“Come on, just one movie. It’s still early.” He reaches for the remote on the coffee table and turns on the TV. He makes himself at home, pulling up Netflix and searching through the movies. “What do you feel like watching?”
“Landon.” He turns his head to look at me. “Go home.”
“I’m good.” He turns back to the screen and pulls up a movie. It’s a romantic comedy, which surprises me.
“This is what you pick?”
“Yeah, don’t women like these things? The romance movies?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why you picked it.”
“Don’t worry, Deaton. I know this date doesn’t end with that kind of happy ending,” he jests.
“Date?” I ask, incredulous.
“I picked you up, literally.” He smirks. “We had dinner, and now we’re watching a movie. I qualify that as a date.”
“Nope. No. Not happening, Barker, get your ass out of my house.”
“Fine.” He raises his hands in the air. “It’s not a date. We’re just two gorgeous people spending time together. How’s that?”
“Gah. You are so full of it.”
“Thank you.”
I roll my eyes and settle back on the couch to watch the movie. What choice do I have? He’s taken care of me, bought me dinner… I guess it’s the least that I can do. Blocking him out, which is so damn hard to do, I focus on the TV and get lost in the movie. It’s one I’ve seen before, but I’m easily engrossed in the story regardless.
Halfway through the movie, my bladder is screaming. Reaching out, I remove the ice pack and lower the leg of the couch.
“What are you doing?” he asks, pausing the movie.
“I have to pee.”
“Let me help you.” He stands and reaches for me.
“I think I can walk on it.” His hands grip my arms as I take a tentative step. It’s painful, but not anything I can’t handle. “See.”
“I see, but I also know from experience….” He points to his chest. “Professional athlete, remember? Anyway, I also know from experience that the more you rest it and ice it, the faster it will heal.” With that, he bends and lifts me into his arms. “Where are we going?”
“Down the hall. The door at the end of the hallway.” My heartrate kicks up a notch. Being in his arms does something to me. When you look past the cocky, and the career, and you strip him down to the man, all that’s left is his caring nature he’s shown me today, and his pure sex appeal. It’s kind of hard to forget that when his strong arms are carrying me.
He walks us down the hall and stops just outside the bathroom door. “I’ll stay right here and wait for you.” He pushes on the door and holds it open for me. Carefully, he sets me on my feet, keeping his hands on my waist to make sure I don’t fall.
“I’m good, Landon.”
He nods and releases his hold on me. I hop through the door, lean against the bathroom counter, shut the door, and twist the lock. I take what feels like the first breath since the moment I fell. Landon is pushy and intense, and so damn stubborn. He’s also caring, and that’s not something I expected from him. He’s also the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and it’s taking willpower I didn’t know that I possessed to sit next to him. If I were the adventurous type, I’d crawl into his lap and let him have his way with me. I have no doubt it would be one for the history books, but that’s not me. I know if I let that happen, I would regret it the next day. With sex, comes feelings, and I just can’t separate the two.
“Emma, you okay in there?” Landon calls through the door.
Shit. “Yeah, just a second.” I scramble to the toilet, work my leggings down, and somehow manage to sit without falling over. It takes me a minute to go, even though my bladder is full, knowing he’s standing right outside the door listening. Finally able to do my business, I manage to stand and hobble to the counter to pull up my leggings and wash my hands.
When I open the door, he’s there. Without a word, he picks me up yet again like I’m nothing but air, and carries me to my spot on the couch. “Do you have any popcorn?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s in the pantry.”
“I’m going to get you a fresh one of these.” He picks up the ice pack from the table. “And I’ll make us some. What do you want to drink?”
“I have some tea still.”
He nods. “Be right back.”
I must be in some kind of alternate universe. I don’t understand why he’s still here, or why he’s hell-bent on staying around. He knows he’s not getting laid tonight, or at least he should.
“Here.” He places a fresh towel and ice pack over my ankle. “It’s too early for these, but I saw them in the cabinet and wanted to bring them to you, so you didn’t have to get up for them later.” He sets a bottle of Advil and a bottle of water on the table beside me. Before I can thank him, he’s back in the kitchen and returning with two more bottles of water and a huge bowl of popcorn.
That’s how the rest of our night goes. We watch the rest of the movie, and he starts another. By the time it’s over, I’m exhausted and ready for bed. “I’m going to clean up.” He stands and picks up the bowl and the now empty water bottles. “Then I’ll help you to bed.”
“I can manage.”
“I’m sure you can, but you don’t have to since I’m here.” He walks off.
Who does he think he is? Yes, he did me a solid today, and I apprec
iate it, but I can manage just fine on my own. Standing, I begin to hop down the hall to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I stop about halfway even though my hallway is not all that long, to take a breather.
“What are you doing, Em?” Strong hands grip my hips, and his hot breath caresses my ear.
“I’m getting ready for bed.”
“Not without me,” he says, and I swear he leans in just a little closer.
“I can manage. Thank you for everything. Will you please make sure the door is locked on your way out?” I ask, dismissing him.
“Right after I put you to bed.” I squeal when he lifts me off my feet, just from his grip on my hips. “Which room is yours?” he asks from behind me.
“Put me down.”
“I can do this all day, Em. Which room is yours?”
“I need to brush my teeth.” I give in. There is no use fighting with him.
“We can do that.” He carries me to the end of the hall and doesn’t put me on my feet until I’m standing in front of the sink. “Do your thing.” He motions to the sink as he lowers the lid on the toilet and takes a seat.
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“Nope.”
“Landon, just go. I’m fine. I don’t need you here in my house packing me around like I’m a toddler. I can handle it. I appreciate you wanting to help, but I can manage on my own.”
“And I can stay until you’re ready for bed.”
“You’re not going to be here in the middle of the night or in the morning when I’m getting ready. I’m a big girl, Number Eighteen. I can manage.”
“Maybe I should stay,” he muses.
“No! You are not staying here.”
“Then do what you need to do, let me tuck you in, and you won’t have to see me again until tomorrow morning.”
“Gah! You are so damn frustrating.”
He nods. “So I’ve been told.”