The Trouble With Quarterbacks

by R.S. Grey

  I have no choice. I can’t call him, not after everything that’s transpired. It’s too far gone, at least that’s how I feel until he shows up Wednesday afternoon to pick up Briggs from school. I’m a real mess, hair tucked up in a messy bun, red dress half concealed behind a paint-stained smock. I’m chatting with a nanny about early dismissal on Friday when Logan walks up behind her and pauses, waiting his turn at the door.

  I go absolutely mute, like I haven’t got a clue what to make of this turn of events. I knew he was going to show up here again. Briggs told me his uncle was going to be picking him up more in the coming weeks, and here he is, just as promised.

  He’s wearing a white Yankees t-shirt, a black ball cap, and jeans. His dark hair is just long enough in the back that it curls out underneath the bottom. He’s so classically American and handsome it’s like I’m staring at a propaganda poster. A mom passes him in the hall and does a double take. Oh right, yes, like you’ve never seen a man that hot before. KEEP IT MOVING, LEEANNE!

  “So then, I’ll be here at 12:30 on Friday. We’ll see you tomorrow,” the nanny assures me before taking Tinsley in hand and turning down the hall. Tinsley calls goodbye to me over her shoulder, and I spend a long time waving to her so I don’t have to notice Logan step toward the door.

  “Hey,” he says, sounding a bit shy.

  How a man like him has even one shy bone in his body is beyond me.

  “Oh hello, you.” I try to sound really cheery, as if nothing’s happened between the last time I saw him and now. I slowly peruse him, trying not to be intimidated by our size difference.

  “Do you have a second?”

  I glance down the hall. “Truthfully, I’ve only got until the next caregiver arrives for pick-up.”

  He nods. “Right. Yeah. I just wanted to apologize.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for!” I say hurriedly, trying to emphasize how sincere I’m being. He doesn’t need to feel bad that I’m so far below his league he thought of me as a charity case. “Speaking of, I actually have that envelope for you.”

  I dash off to get it while Briggs gathers his lunch sack, more than a little excited to see his uncle here again so soon. I’m back at the door quickly, shoving the envelope toward Logan and hoping he’s not staring right at my blazing cheeks.

  “Ah, well, there you go. That’s all of it.”

  He takes it without me having to insist. Thank god.

  “Candace, you have to know I’m a complete idiot. I thought it was a nice gesture or something. Hell, I don’t know what I was thinking, but Kat told me yesterday that you thought I felt sorry for you, when in fact, I was just some guy with a crush who wasn’t sure how to show it.”

  A CRUSH?!

  I blink my eyes up at his. He looks less than impressed with himself.

  “Whatever. Ignore me. I’m screwing this up.” He adjusts his ball cap. “I swear, if you saw me on the field in uniform, you wouldn’t even recognize this version of me. I’m usually pretty cool.”

  I laugh, immediately put at ease by how sweet he can be. He should be a total egomaniac stomping around the city like King Kong, but here he is, picking his nephew up from preschool, shoving that stupid envelope into the back pocket of his jeans like it’s embarrassing him, and then gathering Briggs close when he runs over to give Logan a hug.

  “Is there any way we could maybe start over?” Logan asks me with a lopsided smile. “You could pretend I didn’t try to buy your affection like a fool?”

  My heart melts a bit for him, and I nod quickly. “Of course. Consider it forgotten. And I’m sure there are tons of things I wish you would forget too. Probably, oh, I don’t know”—I glance down—“how I look right now, for one?”

  I arch my brows in hope as I look back up at him from beneath my lashes, but he only shakes his head, trying to hide his smile. “No can do, I’m afraid. You’re too cute, paint and all.”

  Cute like a puppy? Or cute like a woman you desperately want to kiss?

  Curse that bloody word and whoever invented it. Shakespeare, probably. Didn’t he come up with all of them?

  Briggs is tugging on Logan’s hand now, insisting they go for ice cream, and Logan is pretending Briggs is really strong enough to carry him away. It’s so cute.

  “Hold on, buddy. I’m almost finished.”

  “Why do you want to talk to Ms. Candace for so long. Do you liiiike her?” Briggs scrunches his nose like the thought is as disgusting as a turd.

  “Ignore him,” Logan says, clearing his throat. “Now that we’ve started fresh, I just wanted to make sure to let you know Darius and I are having a party this weekend. Just a small group of friends—don’t be intimidated.”

  I immediately drop my overtly intimidated expression and affect a cool-girl stance with my hand on my hip and my weight resting on the doorjamb.

  “I assure you, I am not intimidated.”

  He grins. “Good. I’ll text you the info if you feel like coming. Invite your roommates too.”

  He’s halfway down the hall now, being tugged away by Briggs, so I throw him a wave and a nod.

  “Yeah, cool! I’ll see what I’ve got going on!”

  If this were a movie, a godlike narrator would say to the audience, Candace has absolutely nothing going on.

  He nods and finally turns to set off with Briggs.

  It’s not until he’s at the door and I’m staring after him, lovesick, that another one of the preschool teachers comes up to me and tuts. “What a shame, right?”

  “What?” I have to fight to pry my eyeballs off Logan’s arse.

  “That he’s off limits.”

  In my head, a car screeches to a halt. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you remember what happened to Tara? Fired for sleeping with a parent. How horrible.”

  “But he’s not a parent.”

  She shrugs. “He might as well be. I’m sure the same rules apply.”

  She starts to walk away, so I’m forced to shout after her. “Do they though? Do they apply?!”

  “What does it matter?” She laughs. “Logan Matthews isn’t ever going to date any of us. A girl can dream though, right?”

  I do dream. I dream and I dream and in every single one, Logan is doing very naughty, dirty things to me, things that make me wake up so embarrassed I can’t meet my own reflection in the bathroom mirror. My toothbrush bristles say, We know what you’ve been thinking about, and as retribution, I dunk them under the stream from the faucet.

  “You all right? You look like you’ve hardly slept a wink,” Kat says, crowding into the bathroom alongside me. We’ve only got the one and usually I’m the first to wake up, but I’m dragging today.

  “Shove over, you two,” Yasmine says, cutting the shower off and reaching for her towel before she steps out to join us.

  Now there are three of us in precisely one cubic centimeter of space. Yasmine’s elbow catches the end of my toothbrush so it goes deeper into my mouth, nearly down my throat. I gag and only barely resist the urge to vomit before I catch myself.

  “Watch it!” I hiss, hip-checking her.

  “I was in here first. You two loons need to give me some proper space to get ready.” She wraps the towel around herself tighter, and for a brief second, I’m flashed by her decadent curves. I’m so jealous I have the urge to vomit all over again.

  Even Kat has a body guys fawn over, real tall and lean. She could be some runway model if she wanted, I swear.

  Then there’s me. Little ol’ Candace.

  NO.

  I force that line of thinking right out of my head. I’ve never been weird about my looks. I’ve got good things going. My pale blonde hair always catches the sun, and my big blue eyes are the same as Mum’s. I’ve got a small nose and a dimpled smile. My skin’s pretty great, and I’ve got a petite figure, even if it’s not overflowing with luscious curves. The only reason I’ve let these new insidious thoughts creep in is because I saw that girl Logan was with a
t District. She seemed to scream S-E-X from her hair down to her toes. I’d bet on my life no guy has ever called her cute. Sexy, tantalizing, bodacious—yes. Cute—no way.

  Whatever. It’s not like it matters. As I learned yesterday, there’s a good chance Logan is utterly off limits.

  Oh, but doesn’t that just make the whole thing even more tempting?

  I yank off my pajamas and take my turn in the shower.

  “Oh my god!” Yasmine gasps. “I think there’s a tree between your legs!”

  “Hush you! I’m going for a wax this afternoon so I’ve had to let it grow out a bit longer.”

  “Dear god. Have you checked for live critters in there? Maybe a squirrel or two?”

  “Har har, very funny. Keep it up and I won’t tell you about the posh party we’ve been invited to this weekend.”

  The shower curtain gets yanked to the side, and I don’t even bother shrieking. I go right on washing my hair.

  Yasmine and Kat stand there, prepared to interrogate me until I give them the truth. None of us cares a bit that I’m stark nude.

  When I don’t immediately spill the gossip—instead squeezing out another dollop of conditioner—Yasmine waves her hand impatiently.

  I mime a zipper closing across my lips.

  She growls in frustration. “Fine. Okay, look—if I hold my hand up a bit to block it, it’s not so bad. There. It’s like you don’t even have a huge bush anymore. No need to go get that wax after all.”

  I grab the shower curtain and wrench it closed again.

  “Kat, you’re invited to Logan’s party with me,” I taunt.

  “What?!” she screams.

  “He said he’d text me the details. As soon as I know, I’ll pass them along to you.”

  “Fine, okay. I’ll get dinner tonight,” Yasmine relents.

  “And?”

  “And wine.”

  “And?”

  “What else do you want? This is called extortion, you know! It’s criminal!”

  “I’ll take a slice of that cheesecake from the shop on the corner.”

  “It’s like $8.00 a slice!”

  “I suppose it’ll just have to be Kat and me this weekend.”

  “Fine, you witch! I’ll do it. Are you happy?”

  I grin. “Pleased as Punch. Now pass me a towel, will you?”

  I don’t bother telling Yasmine or Kat about the minor, oh-so-small inconvenience wherein Logan might be off limits and if I so much as kiss him on the cheek, I might be fired and lose all my income and become destitute and have to move back to England and find work on the streets. Instead, I decide it’s best to figure out as much as I can before bringing in the other two Stooges.

  First thing Friday morning, I head straight for the headmistress’s office at The Day School. I am not a rule-breaker. Truly. I once got pulled over while I was driving, and because I thought the officer was going to give me a speeding fine, I cried so hard he ended up consoling me through the window and then had to use my mobile to phone my mum to see if she could come meet me since I was no longer fit to drive. It was only later that I learned he just wanted to let me know one of my car’s tail lights had gone out.

  Anyway, I want to know for sure whether or not I have to keep my distance from Logan. I realize it might be all sorts of tantalizing to go after a forbidden man, but I like my job and I’m not trying to throw it away for a quick romp in the hay.

  I round the corner and see Mrs. Halliday’s office up ahead. Her secretary is already perched at her desk out front, and I greet her with a warm smile. I’ve brought them each a bribe.

  “Good morning, Laura. Fancy a latte?”

  She grins in surprise. “That’s so nice! You didn’t have to do that.”

  I very much did.

  I pass her the Starbucks drink then offer a grin of my own. “Is Mrs. Halliday busy or could I have a little chat with her?”

  Laura frowns after taking a quick sip of her latte. “Actually, she isn’t here today.”

  “Isn’t here? What do you mean?”

  I’m sure all the color has drained from my face.

  “Her husband is scheduled for a dental procedure, so Mrs. Halliday had to be there to drive him home after.”

  Bugger. Shite. Crap.

  “But surely I could still reach her by phone?”

  Laura takes another prolonged sip of that latte before shaking her head. “I’m afraid not. She’s asked me to hold her calls today. Doesn’t want to be disturbed, just in case.”

  It’s dental work, not open-heart surgery. For the love of—

  “Okay, I see.”

  I have half a mind to yank that half-empty latte right out of her hand. Some help she was!

  This is worse than I was expecting. I thought I’d have a quick word with Mrs. Halliday and know one way or the other whether I’d be allowed to date Logan. Sure, yes, it’s laughable that I would date him even if it weren’t against the rules. I’m sort of putting the cart before the horse here, but it’s in the realm of possibility at least!

  Now, I have no way of knowing.

  Now, I’ll have to go into the weekend and be on my best behavior.

  No snogging his face off. No doing a little striptease and showing him just how not cute I can be.

  Could my life get any worse?

  “OH MY GOD. UNZIP IT!”

  “I can’t! It’s stuck!”

  “Okay, hilarious. You two have had your fun, but seriously, get me out of this thing.”

  It’s suddenly hard to breathe in this posh dressing room, like maybe they’ve done something to the air so we’ll get a little lightheaded and forget we can’t afford a single item of clothing in this store, not even a sock.

  I twist away from Yasmine and try to get a good look of my back in the mirror. The zipper she had trouble getting up a few minutes ago is the culprit. It’s what’s keeping me in this dress that we saw in the window as we were passing by on our way to cheaper shops down the road, the ones that sell panties five to a pack.

  It’s a short red frock with thin crisscross straps in the back and a flirty hemline. A real showstopper.

  “Oh my god, imagine if I wore that tonight?” is what I said, and Yasmine and Kat were all, “Oh, you’d knock Logan’s socks off for sure,” and then we sort of laughed and watched as this full-on glamazon walked out of the store with three bags in tow, a whiff of gentle perfume assaulting me as she passed by. I had a moment of absolute rage that I’d have to go to the party in a brown paper sack instead of this amazing red dress, so I whisked open the shop’s door and strolled right in to find a sales associate.

  “I’d like to try on that red dress in the window.”

  “Of course, but it’s couture—” and this is where she said the designer’s name, but it was all French and hard to understand, so I nodded along like I knew all about Pastrami Organza (or whatever his name was) and said, “Yes, that’s the point. I only wear custom couture.”

  Oh, it was ace.

  Yasmine and Kat kept high-fiving me while we waited in the dressing room for the woman to bring me the dress in my size. It was meant to be a bit of fun. Try it on, snap a photo of what I could look like if I had a few gazillion dollars to spare on clothes, and then immediately dash out of here.

  That was before the zipper got stuck.

  Before Yasmine and Kat both tried to pry me out of this thing.

  I’m growing desperate. If the A/C weren’t cranked down to arctic temperatures, I’d be sweating bullets.

  “How are you girls doing in there?” the sales associate asks in her chipper tone from the other side of the door.

  “FINE!”

  “GREAT!”

  “GOOD!”

  We all shout over each other in a wave of panic, and she laughs like we’re adorable before telling me to let her know if I have any issues with the dress.

  Once she’s gone, I do a good bit of pacing, which is relatively hard in the confines of the dressing room. Yasmine
and Kat have to dart out of my way every few seconds.

  “Okay, tell me again what this dress costs,” I insist.

  “$2,200.”

  “Right. But converted to British pounds, it’s less, right?”

  Kat looks like she’s about to cry. “What does that matter?”

  “I’m trying to find some silver lining! Now, Kat, you try the zipper again.”

  “I can’t! My fingers have got blisters from the last time I tried!”

  “Yasmine?”

  She’s the calmest out of all of us, sitting down on the bench and scrolling through her mobile now. “That zipper isn’t budging. I’ve tried for ages already. Just tell the lady and see what she suggests we do. Surely, this sort of thing happens all the time.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid that’s going to be a real issue. This never happens.” is what the sales associate tells me when I cave and finally bring her in on my crisis.

  Somehow, I find that very hard to believe. I’m the first person in the history of fashion to try on a dress and get stuck inside of it?

  “On the plus side, it looks absolutely stunning on you. Red is definitely your color.”

  “That’s what I told her!” Yasmine agrees.

  My anger grows horns. “Right, of course. I am very glad it looks so amazing. The thing is, I’ve got about three pennies and some lint in my purse right now, so I won’t be buying this dress. Please get it off me.”

  She does a good bit of trying with the zipper too, using all her tricks of the trade. The dress stays on, and the color drains from my face.

  “I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a pickle.” She laughs.

  I do not laugh.

  “What are my options then?”

  “Well…if you walk out of the store wearing the dress, I’ll have to consider it shoplifting.”

  A horrid mugshot of me comes to mind—all bug-eyed and slack-jawed—and I shiver at the thought. I will not go to prison over this!

  “And if we cut it off you,” she continues, “you’ll still have to purchase it. You’re familiar with the ‘You break it, you buy it’ policy, I’m sure.”