“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
