“Sounds like you were depressed.”
“Not sure about that, but I had lots of free time to kill. I still had to know the playbook and stay in shape so I could be ready to go at a moment’s notice, if need be. But I didn’t have to do any of the public appearances I would have had to do as the Number One guy. So, when I wasn’t working on the community service projects I’d already committed to, I didn’t know what to do with myself.”
“What type of volunteer work did you do?”
“Same stuff I do now. I’m a Big Brother, and I visit kids in the hospital.” His face brightens. “It’s one of the highlights of my week, especially in the off-season.”
He’s too good.
“You have that look again,” he says.
I shake my head to clear it, then force a smile. “Sorry. Tell me something that proves you’re not perfect. I can’t handle perfection.”
“I admitted I was such a dick to my girlfriend that she”—his jaw tightens, then he finally finishes—“left me. And our dog. That’s hardly perfect.”
“Okay, but all that other stuff…”
“Because I come from a big family and we get along, we’re perfect?”
“And you volunteer with kids.”
“Big whoop. I like kids.”
“You’re such a Boy Scout!”
“Nope. Never got into scouting.”
“But you’re good.”
He lifts his shoulders toward his ears, then drops them again. “It’s important to make the world a better place, however I can. Most of the time, that means entertaining football fans once a week. That’s hardly world-changing. The least I can do is spend a couple of hours a week cheering up sick kids. Or helping someone with their homework. Or whatever else needs to be done.”
“When I’m not at work, I watch movies. And eat ice cream.”
He laughs. “Well, I’m not allowed to eat ice cream all that often. But I do a lot of hanging out, too. Watching TV. Swimming. Playing with Torz. After a while, I get bored. I guess it’d be different if I was hanging out with someone other than my dog. Hint, hint.” He flutters his lashes at me but can’t keep a straight face for long.
“You’re a real charmer.”
“I’m pathetic!”
“What are you saying, then? You hang out here, alone, all the time?”
He averts his eyes. “Um, pretty much.”
“Interesting.”
And hard to believe. This doesn’t gel with any professional athlete stereotypes. Aren’t they having orgies and wild parties all the time? Surrounded by stacks of money? I look around. Not a single bundle of Benjamins anywhere.
“I’m a normal guy,” he insists. “Maybe more boring than most guys. Definitely not perfect.”
Neither of us says anything for a while. Then he looks up at me, so serious, I suddenly do want to bolt for the door.
“Maura?”
“Jet?” I say in the same tone, but punctuated with a smile, trying to break the tension.
“What?” he asks. “You go first.”
I laugh. “Nothing. Sorry.” When he tilts his head, obviously confused, I blush. “You say my name a lot.”
He studies my face. “I like saying it. It’s pretty.”
I duck my head. “Oh. Thanks.”
“If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”
“No, it’s fine.” I mumble with a head shake, sorry I’ve made him self-conscious about it.
Fortunately, he doesn’t belabor it. Unfortunately, his tone remains earnest when he continues, “I need to tell you something.”
And things were going so well!
He picks at his jeans and turns toward me, digging his elbow into the back of the couch and resting his forehead in one hand. He rubs his hairline. His other hand grabs my right one, and he threads his fingers through mine. I stare at our woven digits while he focuses on my profile. His right knee brushes my thigh and makes me feel seriously—and dangerously—tingly in some private places.
“There’s something I want to apologize for.”
An apology doesn’t fit into my idea of what I wish would happen next, but I stifle my sigh. “Go on.”
“It’s about something I said last night. This morning. Whenever.”
“You definitely don’t have to apologize for anything you said or did then.”
“Maura. Really. Seriously.”
My smart-ass grin fades as I meet those green eyes. I’ve seen that look many times on the sidelines when the team is down and facing their last drive of the game. “Fine. Go ahead. I guess.”
“I’m sorry I said what I did about playing hard-to-get. I was kidding, but as soon as it was out, I realized it sounded like I was pressuring you or something. That’s not it at all. It was rude, and sexist. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t say no.” He lowers his chin, adding a meaningful look to those last two words.
Oh, I feel that way for many reasons, but not because I’m afraid he won’t take no for an answer. Instead of trying to articulate that distinction, though, I keep it simple.
“I don’t want to say no.”
The left side of his mouth lifts in a sexy half-smile. “Well, that’s different.”
“Very.”
My breath catches in my throat when his face comes closer, and I remember how he felt and tasted last night. I don’t have to anticipate a replay for too long, as he brushes his lips against mine. My eyes flutter closed, and I become so relaxed, I worry I might melt off the couch. But he holds me in place, pulling me more tightly to his chest.
“Where are you going?” he asks quietly.
I open my eyes and say honestly, “Nowhere. I’m staying right here,” before leaning into a deeper, much more intimate kiss.
His huge hands splay across my back, nearly spanning the entire width. In his arms, I’m tiny and delicate. It’s an unfamiliar, yet amazing, feeling.
As his tongue probes my mouth, I release a moan on a tiny puff of air that makes him smile against my lips and would embarrass me if I weren’t so turned on. His right hand slides upward to the back of my head and presses my face more firmly into his. I scoot so I’m
