Fair Catch - A Football Romance (7 page)

We are almost to Poppy’s, but I can’t wait a second longer. I pull the car over to the narrow shoulder and put it in park. I turn, and she is looking behind us and then out front to see why we’ve stopped, but the reason isn’t outside. It’s right here.

“I’ve wanted to do this since yesterday,” I say. I reach out and caress the side of her face with my fingers. She closes her eyes and leans into my open palm, and I notice a tiny scar on the edge of her eyebrow and a mole on one of her round apple cheeks.

The sight of her so relaxed makes stealing this first kiss much easier. I slide my other hand around to the base of her neck and guide her full, peachy lips to my mouth.

When our lips touch, the energy I’ve felt the few times we have touched over the past forty-eight hours intensifies. I try to memorize the feel of our lips melding together in case she never lets me do this again. If there is a God, and I know there is, I pray that this isn’t a one-time experience.

Our kiss is slow and sensual as we explore each other’s mouth and our hands have a mind of their own. Angel’s hand slides up my bicep, and I lace my fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck. A sigh escapes her glistening lips when I kiss the sensitive skin behind her ear.

That faint, soft sigh makes my dick harder than any peep show, porn flick or stripper ever has. If we weren’t in my car on the side of the road on our way to dinner, I would let myself get so lost in her I’d never be found.

Angel makes me feel invincible, like the adrenaline rush I get when the ball rolls off my thumb and fingertips into a perfect pass that wins the game. She is the prize, and I am the lucky winner.

After trailing kisses and nips down her neck to a particularly sensitive spot on her collarbone, I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. Angel hears it too, and the bubble of electricity we’ve been suspended in pops, bringing us back to earth with a jolt.

We pull apart, and I slide my phone from my back pocket, but before I look to see who it is, I brush my thumb over Angel’s pouty bottom lip and press one last soft kiss on her parted lips. She is so beautiful. Her flushed cheeks and half-open bedroom eyes almost make me decline the call.

“You’d better get that before they hang up,” she says.

“I was hoping they would.”

I do answer, though, when I see it’s my sister, Olivia, and her voice fills the car when the call connects.

“Hey, little brother, are you still coming? Because I have someone on the other line who wants your table and you’re five minutes late.”

“Don’t you dare. We will be there in less fewer than five minutes. If you give my table away, I’ll tell Mom about the time you set your comforter on fire smoking in your room.”

“No need to make threats, River. I was just checking. We have a full house tonight, and my best table is sitting empty, making everyone jealous.”

I straighten out in my seat and start the car.

“They’re going to be jealous when they see me sitting at that prime table with my date.”

“Oh, really? Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. Have you been keeping her a secret?”

I check my mirrors and ease the car back on the road.

“No, we just met yesterday. I even asked her to come to Mom and Dad’s for dinner, but she can’t make it.”

I shoot Angel my best sad eyes and stick out my bottom lip in an over-exaggerated pout. She laughs. I have a good feeling that with Olivia’s help, we can get Angel to agree to dinner with the Kellys tomorrow night.

“Maybe after she tastes my cooking, she’ll be tempted to see where all that talent came from. Hey, Angel, be prepared to be ambushed. My brother never brings women home for dinner. You must be really special.”

“Hi, Olivia, and thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome. See you both in a few minutes. Better hurry before Judge Patchouli takes your table.”

“I’m two minutes away. Tell that law lover to back off.”

“Will do, bye.”

Olivia disconnects the call, and I chuckle.

“She’d never give our table away. She’s too curious. That was a courtesy call to let me know she’s got her list of twenty questions ready and a pen poised to take notes.”

“Why?”

“Remember what we were saying about gold diggers?”

“The part where I said I’m not one?”

“No, the part where I said it’s hard to find genuine people.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.”

“Well, I don’t usually take women to dinner, and especially not at my sister’s restaurant.”

“So, what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means Olivia will be interested in knowing everything from your shoe size to your five-year life plan. I guess it also means the extent of my dating only goes as far as a movie and an occasional hookup.”

“Wow, and I thought my social life was sad. You’ve got some trust issues, huh?”

“Like I said, gold diggers.”

“Were you burned by one?”

“More than once. When I first became a household name, I was naïve. I grew up surrounded by people who loved me. I didn’t know about the users and the manipulators.”

“I’m sorry. I hope I never have to deal with that.”

“You won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

She doesn’t know it yet, but I plan on being around to watch her become famous—and hopefully, a lot longer.

A
ngel

River has the sexiest arms of any man I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some good-looking arms. My male partners need strong arms to do all of the lifting their parts require, and they’re nice, but they don’t hold a candle to River’s.

The sleeves of his crisp white shirt are rolled up to the middle of his forearms. I’m daydreaming about him wrapping those strong, sculpted arms around my body and pressing me against his.

I am an arm girl. I love his lean muscles and how they flex under his tanned skin every time he moves. I love the ropy veins that crawl up his forearms and disappear under the sleeves of his shirt. I have a friend who is a nurse. She refers to thick veins as nurse porn, and I’d have to agree, although for different reasons.

“You okay over there?” he asks.

“Yeah. You have nice arms.”

He chuckles. “That’s random.”

“I was just noticing. I always like to check out a guy's arms. They say a lot about him.”

“Like what?”

“Like guys who work out and stay hydrated have these awesome, thick veins.” I reach out and trace an unusually large one from his wrist to his elbow, causing tiny goosebumps to rise on his skin. “And if a guy's arms are sculpted and cut, it’s a pretty good bet the rest of him is too.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, and FYI, every part of me is perfectly cut.”

I take a deep breath for the hundredth time since he picked me up tonight. He takes my breath away with his compliments and innuendos.

River makes my blood boil in the best way. He makes me feel beautiful and smart and important. Abline Clark’s quote from
The Help
pops into my head. ‘You is smart, you is kind, you is important.’

I cried when I read that book. I wish someone had told me those things when I was a little girl. Maybe I wouldn’t be so desperate to prove my worth to my parents. The fact that this man whom I’ve only known for fewer than forty-eight hours can make me feel valuable is very significant.

A lot of guys will compliment you to get you into bed, but River doesn’t have to say anything. I can feel that he thinks I’m beautiful by the way he looks at me. When I speak, he listens intently, like what I have to say is critical information that he’s filing away for future reference.

“I’m glad I came out tonight. I almost didn’t.”

He shakes his head back and forth. “I was worried you might cancel. That’s why I didn’t give you my phone number. I also asked the woman at the front desk to take my number off all the paperwork from the Sparks.”

“Wow, you were determined, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t taking any chances, but since you brought it up, why were you going to cancel?”

“I don’t know. The guilt, I guess.”

“Guilt about eating dinner?”

I swat at his arm. “Hey, just because I’m a dancer doesn’t mean I have an eating disorder,” I say with a laugh.

“I wasn’t insinuating that you did. I just can’t imagine what you would have to feel guilty about.”

“When I’m not practicing, I’m teaching, and when I’m not doing either of those things, I am sleeping or preparing to practice or teach.”

“Sounds unbalanced.”

“Is that a nice way of saying it sounds boring?”

“You said it, not me.”

I consider it for a moment. My life is boring, but River is just the thing to shake it up a bit.

“Well, like I said, I’m glad I decided to come.”

“Me too. All work and no play make Angel a dull girl.”

“You think I’m dull?”

“Absolutely not. I think you’re fascinating, but from the sounds of it, you’re a workaholic.”

“I am. Let’s change that tonight.”

“Deal. I’d say we’re off to a good start after that roadside kiss,” he says and glances at me.

“That was a pretty awesome kiss, Mr. Kelly. You took me by surprise.”

“Surprise kisses are the best. You’d better watch out. Now that I know how good you taste, there might be a few thousand sneak attack kisses in your future.”

“I think I’m going to be okay with that.”

R
iver

I swing into Poppy’s parking lot and drive around back to the private lot for employees. I slide in next to my sister’s Lexus and a brick wall, where I know my baby will be safe from rude door dingers.

“We can avoid the crowd and go in the back.”

“Perks of knowing the owner,” she says.

“You know it.”

I round the car and open her door. I offer her my hand and help her out, and she glides to her feet like only a dancer can. I’m constantly in awe of her grace and poise. Every move she makes is purely balletic.

I place her arm around mine and lead her to the door that opens into Olivia’s office. The moment we are inside, the warm air from the kitchen hits my face, and the smell of fresh seafood fills my nose.

“This way.” I lead her past Olivia’s antique mahogany desk and out the open office door into the busy kitchen. We skirt along the side, careful to stay out of the way. There are servers rushing in and out of swinging doors. The sous chef and the executive chef move between multiple burners, preparing several dishes at once.

Emilio, the executive chef, looks up and notices me trying to sneak through.

“Hey, Football Boy, what are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Just passing through, trying to dodge the crowd out front. What’s good tonight?”

He throws his arms out wide and grins ear to ear.

“Everything is good, my boy. Everything.”

“Excellent. I may have to order one of everything, then.”

“Don’t be greedy now. Save some for the pretty lady,” he says, waving a knife as big as my forearm toward Angel.

“Yes, sir. Will do.”

I guide Angel with my hand on the small of her back. The simple, innocent gesture is made intimate by her low-cut dress that is exposing her entire back. An inch lower, and my hand would be on her ass, which I’m now imagining is bare under this dress. I’m starting to get hard thinking about her slipping her straps off her shoulders and watching that dress pool around her feet.

Lost in my imagination, I almost pass our table, but Angel stops short when she sees the only empty table in the room, and my cock brushes against her hip. She looks at me with wide eyes, and I almost laugh, but my sister is all over us before I can react.

“It’s about time. Hurry, sit, sit. I feel like I’m holding fifty-yard-line seats at a Sparks game, for crying out loud. I’m Olivia, River’s favorite sister. You must be Angel.”

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you,” Angel says.

Olivia pulls out Angel’s chair and stands with her back to the room full of customers. The table is on the back wall, set apart from the others a few feet to give more privacy, but not so much that the people sitting here can’t be seen. Being seen is the most important thing to a lot of the people who frequent Poppy’s, a fact that doesn’t sit well with my sister. She wants people to come because they love her food, and they do. But being a hot spot for famous people is how she makes a living, so she puts up with rich people’s upper and lower class snobbism.

Olivia stands with her arms spread wide, waiting for a hug from her ‘favorite brother’. “What, no love? I saved you this table, and you can’t give me a hug?”

I wrap my arms around her petite frame and lift her off her feet for a moment, squeezing a squeal from her.

“River, stop.”

“Too much for ya? You said you wanted some love.” I steady her on her cream colored stilettos, and she tugs at her matching dress until it’s smoothed out.

“Hush. What can I get you two to drink? Champagne? Wine? Something top shelf?”

“I’ll have water with lemon, please,” Angel says with a sweet smile.

“I’ll have a Corona.”

Olivia’s brow puckers between her eyes.

“That’s it? Water and a beer? For my best customers and the best table in the house? At least let me send over a bottle of wine so you look like ballers.”

“Sorry, Sis. I have to drive Angel back tonight, and she has to practice for an audition tomorrow.”

“Audition? Are you a dancer? You move like a dancer. Let me guess,” she says, tapping her finger against her lips.

“You’re beautiful and classy, so definitely bar and not pole.”

“Olivia,” I say. I can’t believe she just compared ballet with stripping.

“Oh hush, River. You dance ballet, and you’re trying for a spot in the San Francisco Dance Company.”

“Yes, exactly. How did you know that?”

“Well, my brother drove an hour to bring you here, so I assume you’re from San Francisco. Anyone who knows anything about dance knows the San Francisco Dance Company is the place to be if you want to make it big.” She pauses to wink at Angel. “And I’ve seen a lot of famous dancers come in and out of my restaurant. You remind me of Jacqueline Marsal. She used to have a reservation every Saturday night before she relocated to London. That lady moved like silk flowing across the floor.” Olivia makes a gliding motion with her hand, and I vow to do something extra special for her this Christmas.

I had no idea my sister knew so much about the dance world. She’s racking up the points left and right, and Angel’s eyes are sparkling with a passion for her craft.

“Wow, thank you so much. I’ve never been compared to Jacqueline Marsal before. That’s an honor.”

“No problem, sweetie. Now about that wine. I’ll send you something nice. If you can’t drink it, try to pretend.” She leans over and kisses my cheek and gives Angel a little wave before she disappears into the crowd.

“She’s very sweet. Are all your siblings so nice?”

“Most of them. One of my brothers is an ass, but other than him, we’re a pretty happy brood.”

“I’m surprised there’s only one. You must have amazing parents.”

“We do. You’ll meet them tomorrow night.”

“River, I can’t come. I really have to practice. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m just giving you a hard time, and I know you’re busy. It’s the off-season for me, but usually, I’m busy as hell with practice too. That’s why I try to get to Mom’s family dinners as much as I can in June and July.”

Our waiter approaches, and we pause our conversation to listen to the house specials. Another waiter busies himself opening the bottle of wine my sister insisted we drink.

Olivia has instructed the waiter not to bother with all of the pretentious crap that comes with opening a bottle of wine. She knows I hate it and that I prefer a cold beer, but she has an image to keep, so wine it is.

When the waiters are gone, I catch Angel eyeing the glass of Pinot Noir.

“You sure you don’t want some? Just one is probably all right, isn’t it?”

Her lip disappears between her teeth, and a smile spreads across her face.

“Okay, what the hell. It’s just one glass. I’ll be fine.”

With that, we raise our glasses and clink them together. I watch her face transform when she tastes the wine I know my sister has chosen especially for someone who doesn’t drink often.

It’s light with a touch of sweet, and it goes down easily.

“Oh, my gosh, this is good. I’m not much of a wine drinker, but this is delicious.”

“Yes, Olivia’s great at choosing wine. I think it’s one of the reasons this place has been such an incredible success.”

“If the wine is this good, I can’t wait to taste the food. How long has she had Poppy’s?”

“She opened it about ten years ago. I was still in high school. She’s done well for herself.”

“A pro football player and a restaurateur. What does everyone else do?”

“Well my brother, Noah, is a lawyer, and his wife, Maria, stays home with their three kids. Abel is a stockbroker in New York. He has a ten-year-old daughter, Maya, but he was never married to her mother. She took off when Maya was only two. James is a hairstylist. He is the co-owner of Edge, and he’s gay. He and Mark adopted two kids from China, though, so they are also contributors to the Kelly family tree. You know Olivia. She’s married to Allen, who is an investment banker, and they have three kids too. Abigail is a physical therapist. She works at MBS, as a matter of fact, and she’s married to Thomas, and they have five kids with one on the way, making her second only to my mother in the number of children.”

“Wait, that’s only six, isn’t it, or have I lost count?”

“No, you haven’t. I left David for last. He’s the brother who is an ass. He is married to Misty, and they have two adorable kids, but he can’t be bothered with them because he has a trashy girlfriend.”

“Yikes, sounds like the black sheep.”

“He’s a whole heard of black sheep, but I don’t want to ruin our evening talking about him.”

“Sounds like a beautiful family, aside from David, the asshat black sheep, that is.”

“You’re always welcome to come and meet them tomorrow night. Did I mention my mother’s having dinner?” I wink at her, and she takes another sip of her wine.

“You’re relentless.”

“I am when I want something bad enough.”

I slide my chair around so we are sitting side-by-side and slide my hand under the tablecloth into her lap, searching for her fingers to link with mine.

“I feel like we’re at a show, and all of those people are the actors, but there isn’t a plot,” she says.

Instead of threading our fingers together, she places my open palm flat on her thigh and covers it with her own while she takes yet another drink from her nearly empty glass of wine.

I love the heat seeping through my palm, but being this close to her apex is making me crazy. If I were smart, I’d move away, but that might send the message that I’m not interested, and I am
so
interested.

“We could make up a plot. How about that guy over there is hiding from the law and that guy on the opposite wall is an FBI agent? The outlaw has drastically changed his appearance, but the FBI agent has a sixth sense, and he knows something’s up with him.”

She lets out a squeal and sits up in her seat to examine the crowd closer.

“My turn. Okay, see that lady over there with the gold dress alone at the bar?”

I lean in close like I’m not sure who she’s pointing at, even though there’s no way you could miss that woman. She’s all but wearing a red flashing light with that gold dress that says
I’m a gold digger
.

“Which one?” I ask.

She turns her face to mine, and we are so close, I watch her eyes dilate. She was about to say something, but I’ve taken her off guard, and she’s flustered.

“I um, the one with the . . .”

“The one with the boobs?” I ask, and she smiles.

“Yeah, that’s her.” Her eyes are focused on my mouth, right where I want them, because who am I to let an opportunity like this pass me by?

“What about her?”

She drags her gaze from my lips to my eyes and answers.

“She’s undercover with the agent, and they’re working together to find the outlaw.”

“Aw, couldn’t we make her the bad guy? I don’t like the looks of her.”

She lifts her eyebrow skeptically.

“No way. Every guy in here has been undressing her with their eyes since we sat down.”

“She’s not my type. You’re my type, and for the record, the only person I’ve been undressing with my eyes is you.” I lean in and softly press my lips against her slightly parted lips. A soft moan vibrates from her throat, and I have to use every ounce of control to keep from throwing her over my shoulder and hauling her out of here.

“Ahem. The woman at the bar wanted me to bring you another bottle of wine. I’ll just leave it here for you. Your dinner will be ready momentarily,” our waiter says.

When we simultaneously turn to face him, he points toward the woman in the gold dress that we were just discussing.

“Please tell her thank you,” I say, and he starts to leave.

“Oh, wait, who is she? Do you know?”

“Ruby Bissette. She is a famous romance author. She comes here often for research. If she’s sending you wine, you might want to look for yourselves in her next novel.”

“Oh my God. Ruby Bissette? I’ve read all of her books. Do you think she would autograph the wine bottle?” Angel asks the waiter. Before he can answer, she’s up and swiping the bottle off the table, weaving through the crowd toward Ms. Bisette.

A little worried that the glass of wine she consumed may have already gone to her head, I follow. When I catch up, she’s gushing all over the author and asking the bartender for a pen so she can autograph the bottle of wine.

“I loved Hot Catch. It’s my favorite book you’ve written so far. Do you have something new in the works?”

The bartender hands her a pen, and I slide my hand inside Angel’s dress at the waist and gently pull her against my side.

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, darling.”

“This is Angel, and I’m River. Thank you for the wine. It was very kind of you.”

“Oh no problem. I should be thanking you two. You’ve given me an idea for my next book.”

Angel freezes in my arms, and her mouth drops open.

“You’re going to write about . . . us?”

Ruby Bisette’s bright red lips draw up in a beautiful smile, and she nods her head up and down.

“The electricity coming from you two is visible. It’s like New Year's Eve and the Fourth of July in New York over there in that corner, and that’s before he kissed you, honey.”

Angel’s hand flies to her chest, and she gasps. I’ve never seen a woman get so worked up about an author. She must write some seriously hot stuff.

Ruby signs the bottle with a flourish and hands it to the star-struck Angel, who is still standing with her mouth agape. I reach over and, with my finger under her chin, I close her mouth and thank Ruby again. She winks and whispers, “Don’t miss
Player and the Princess
. I think you two are going to love it.”

I nod and turn my fictional princess around and guide her back to our table, where our food is about to be served and our wine glasses have been filled.

I help Angel back into her seat, and when the waiters are gone, I look at her still sitting next to me, star-struck.

“You gonna be okay? I thought you were going to pass out over there.”

She blinks at me as if she’d forgotten I was sitting next to her.