One Night with a Quarterback (8 page)

“You're still in town.”

She blinked. “Yeah, I will be for awhile. Things got . . . complicated. Family stuff. So I'm here for the foreseeable future.”

It was like a prayer come true. “You going somewhere with those Danishes?”

She glanced at the small box wrapped in twine. “How'd you know—”

“Mama Mimi's.” He pointed to the logo on the box. “She makes the best Danishes. I don't know how anyone could walk in there and not leave with one.” He leaned in a little, taking a step forward at the same time so they were just inches apart, and whispered, “I think she's magical.”

She snorted. “Like the elves who live in trees and make cookies?”

“Better than elves.” He sniffed a little, and he wasn't sure which was better . . . the Danishes or her clean, feminine scent. “Come have coffee with me.”

She looked up, her face only inches away from his. It would have been so easy, so damn easy, to just drop a kiss on her nose and make her smile. But as she opened her mouth to say yes, she blinked. Then blinked again. Then took a step back as if he were suddenly contagious.

“What?”

She shook her head, holding the Danishes with The Grip of Death, and looked around like she was waiting for someone to pop out from a street corner and mug her for the pastries. “I can't.”

“Can't, or won't?”

She chewed on her lip a little, and he bit back a groan. She'd done the same thing to him at one point, when he'd been inside her, moving furiously to keep pace with her passion. The memory of sliding inside her, slick and wet with desire for him, made him fight back a semi on the street.

“I'm not sure.”

Now he was the one blinking. “Not sure if you can't, or if you won't?”

She shrugged, looking a little miserable. Nobody should look that miserable holding Mimi's pastries. “It amounts to the same, either way.”

“Nope. Sure doesn't. Because you're coming with me.” He hooked his arm through her elbow and tugged lightly.

“What?” She walked easily with him. “You can't just take me with you. That's kidnapping.”

“Go ahead. Struggle a little. Make it look convincing.”

She kept walking with him. Even as his grip eased on her arm so much that all he was doing was brushing his thumb on the soft inside of her elbow, she continued on beside him.

Just as he suspected. She wanted him, wanted to spend time with him, but needed someone else to take the decision out of her hands. He stopped by his SUV and opened the door, waiting.

She did that whole bad-covert-spy glancing around thing again, then looked at him.

He lifted one shoulder. “This is the part where you have to decide. In or out?”

She watched him a moment. “Coffee only. Right?”

He held up the hand not holding his lunch. “Scout's honor. Just coffee and conversation.” A conversation in which he tried his damnedest to keep her with him and make plans to see her again, yeah . . .

She let her eyes flutter closed, and it was all he could do to stop himself from leaning in and kissing her senseless.

Public, Owens. You're in broad daylight. You're lucky nobody's run up to you thus far and started an autograph mob. Don't push it.

“Fine. Okay, fine.” She slid in, but pointed a finger back out at him before he could close the door. “But you're not sharing my Danish.”

He shut the door and walked around the hood of the car, grinning. He'd already had a taste of her Danish. And if she thought for a minute he was giving up on the chance for seconds, she was as nuts as Mama Mimi's cranberry walnut scones.

Trey drove straight toward his favorite coffee shop, not bothering to weave around the best parts of the city. Partly because he had a better way to show her the area. But mostly because he wanted to get her comfortable and fully alone as fast as possible.

“Were you born in Santa Fe?”

He glanced at her as traffic slowed for a red light. “No, Minnesota. Why?”

“Oh. You just drive like you've been here forever.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I could see that. But no, I've lived here about four years now. It's a great place, easy to get to know once you've been here a year. The worst part for me was getting used to the weather.”

“I bet. Big change for you.”

“Huge.” He smiled. “How's it compare to Atlanta?”

Cassie held out her arms and scowled. “Dry.”

He laughed at that. “You need body butter.”

“Body . . . butter . . .” Sounded messy and sexy all at once.

“You know, thicker than lotion, good for when your skin's dry as dust.” He glanced at her again before traffic picked up. “And you have no clue what I'm talking about. It's something chicks use out here.”

“Oh, do they? Chicks and their body butter.” Her tone was as dry as the weather.

Trey realized then what trap he'd willingly walked himself into, and winced. “So I've heard.”

“Uh-huh.” Having pity, she spared him the teasing. She tilted her head a little. “Are you wearing contacts today?”

He paused at a stoplight, then looked at himself in the rear view mirror. Damn it. He never wore contacts, and he didn't want to straight-out lie. “I'm good to drive.”

She seemed to take that at face value and shrug, then settle back in the seat. “So where are you kidnapping me to?”

“What have you seen so far?”

“The inside of a building. Repeatedly.” Her voice was sour, as if the words tasted bitter.

“Any particular building?”

“I'm going to take a pass on that one.”

Okay then.
He had his secrets, she had hers. Not the best start, but at least he had a tiny toehold here. She was in his car, and she couldn't jump out into moving traffic. So they were going somewhere. Literally. “How about I take you to my favorite spot in the city?”

She nodded, and he zoomed through to get two coffees—hers black, his with an embarrassing amount of cream and sugar to make it taste less like coffee and more like anything else—and then headed off to see how she felt about his favorite spot.

* * *

A parking garage.

His favorite spot in the entire city was a parking garage. More specifically, the opened top floor of a deserted parking lot.

She watched as he spread out a blanket on the ground. The blanket was maroon and had something that looked like a chipmunk.

“A rodent?”

He glanced up, offended. “It's the golden gopher, thank you very much. University of Minnesota, my alma mater.”

She nodded, distracted.

What am I doing? What am I doing? Oh, sweet Jesus this is probably wrong.

“You just happen to have a blanket with you?”

“It's one of those ‘be prepared' things. You know, if your car breaks down and it's twelve degrees. It's in a box with the flares and starter cables and all that stuff.”

“Twelve degrees . . . in New Mexico? How often does that happen?”

“In the four years I've lived here? Never.” He brushed his hands off and grinned at her. “But remember, I'm from Minnesota. Some habits die hard. Trust me, you don't want to get caught on the side of the road without a blanket up there.” He held out a hand, and she gave in to the impulse to place hers in it. He tugged until she was flush against his body, holding the pastry box to the side. “Besides, it clearly has its uses.” Then he surprised her by kissing her nose and letting go to grab their coffees from inside his SUV.

She set the pastry box down and settled back on the blanket, trying to absorb what she was doing.

Breaking the rules, that's what.

No, not quite. This wasn't a date or anything. He was showing her the city. And from the top of the garage, they actually had a surprisingly great view. He'd already pointed out several of the taller landmarks, and one area that, in his opinion, had some of the worst gridlock during morning rush hour. So technically, it was more like a free tour guide with pastry benefits.

What bullshit.

“Where'd you wander off to?”

She glanced at him, realized he'd settled next to her on the blanket. Not too close, not so they were touching. She liked that he didn't crowd her. But she could still reach out and brush a finger over the dark stubble on his jaw.

“You know, the mind of a nerd. I was probably daydreaming about some RPG or something.”

He made a disbelieving face, but she just smiled.

“Tell me about Atlanta.”

She did, starting with her favorite historical spots, but he waved that off as he took a sip of his coffee. And grimaced.

“Something wrong with the coffee?” She tasted her own, found it fine.

“I'm about to admit something really unmanly. Can you keep this a secret?”

She leaned in, a smile tugging at her lips. But she did her best to look serious. “Go for it.”

He mirrored her, coming close enough she could feel his breath as he whispered, “I hate coffee.”

She laughed at that. The man had an unusual way of making her laugh more than any other man had before. “Is that so? How is that unmanly?”

“Guys are supposed to take their coffee black. It's just an unwritten rule. Some horrible guy code or whatever. I only drink the stuff when I need a quick jolt.” He made a face as he took another sip. “It's embarrassing to say I would rather drink one of those frothy mochas instead. The one with the whipped cream, or where they make the designs in the foam?”

This time she couldn't hold back the laughter. She pictured him standing there looking tough and strong, his hands wrapped around a mug with the shape of a leaf in the froth.

He grumbled, but said nothing and reached for her pastry box. She slapped his hand away. “You have your lunch. Where's the deli bag?”

His pleading face was more pathetic—and nearly as endearing—as her mother's old basset hound begging for table scraps.

“Have you no shame?” she asked on another chuckle.

“There's no shame when it comes to Mama Mimi's.” He hopped up, giving her a nice view of his butt in worn jeans, and reached into the back seat where he'd settled his lunch. “Split you the sandwich for one of your Danish.”

She'd planned on eating both Danishes for lunch. It'd been a rough day . . . sue her. But this was more balanced. At least, that's what she told herself when she agreed and was munching on half a turkey and ham sandwich. But she knew it was more than that when he asked, “So what's your reason for being in town?” and she wanted to tell him the whole thing.

The entire story, not just some generic “family” excuse. Talking with Anya via FaceTime had helped, but she needed someone to bitch to face-to-face.

She set the sandwich down on the bag and laid back, staring up into the light blue sky with perfect little puffball clouds. “I'm twenty-eight years old, and I met my father for the first time a few weeks ago. The morning after we met in the club, actually.”

Trey blew out a breath. “That's heavy.”

Heavy. She let out a little humorless laugh. “Yup.”

“How'd it go?”

“Better, and worse, than expected.” She looked over at him. “You know what I mean?”

He nodded, but stayed quiet. She took this as her encouragement to go on.

“He seemed fine with meeting me. But I think . . . I think I'm a check in the box. Like, because he knows about me, he needs to be involved in my life. But he isn't sure if he actually
wants
to be involved. I'm an obligation at this point.”

“And you're hoping the obligation will lead to a full-on relationship.”

“Am I crazy?” She rubbed at her eyes, thankful she hadn't coated them with mascara this morning. “Crazy to want to know a man who had ten minutes of claim to my existence nearly thirty years ago? Crazy to feel like, if I don't give this a shot, there's going to be some big hole in my life that wasn't there a year ago when I thought he was nobody?”

“Of course not.”

She felt her eyes start to well up.
Just staring up at the bright sky for too long
. She closed them, then cursed when one tear leaked down to run into her hair.

“Hey. Come here.” Trey stretched out beside her, then curled her into his side. Her head rested naturally on his shoulder, her arm draped over his stomach as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if they'd been doing the same thing, day after day, for years. The familiarity of it—even though it wasn't real—warmed her a little more.

His hand rubbed up and down her back, stopping well before he hit her butt, and not coming near her breast. The fact he wasn't using the moment to cop an easy feel only enhanced the comfort. She released one breathy sigh, then rubbed her nose against the warm skin of his neck.

“Want me to kick your dad's ass?”

She laughed, this time with real humor. “No. I don't know if you could, anyway. He's . . . he's a big guy.”

“Ouch.” He kept rubbing her back.

“Not as big as you. But big.” She lifted her head, propping up on one elbow. Then she reached out and pushed the bill of his baseball cap back until it came off completely. At the sight of the yellowish-green bruise, she raised a brow. “Bar fight?”

He grimaced and rubbed absently at the spot. “Fight with a bar, actually.”

“I'm not even sure what that means.”

“My head was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all.” He rolled over her then, so he blocked out the clouds. “Are you gonna give me your number so I don't have to wait another two weeks to see you?”

She bit on her bottom lip, torn. She liked him. Liked him more than any guy she'd dated in a very long time. But she'd made a promise to follow the “no men” rule.

Sensing her refusal, he added, “Just a spin around the city. You got the sky view this time, but next time I can show you shortcuts and the best places to eat.” When she said nothing, he nuzzled against her temple. “Come on, you can't resist a free tour guide. Call it a Welcome to the Neighborhood gift.”

Well . . .

When she still said nothing, he sighed. “I spent two weeks looking for you. I begged the hotel to give up your number, your address, anything. I called back all the time hoping you'd checked back in. I think they have a restraining order against me now.”

She giggled at that.

More serious, he continued. “Every time I went to a restaurant, or a crowded place, I looked for you. I kept praying to the gods of coincidence we'd run into each other again before you left town. And now, here you are.”

She wasn't sure what to say to that so she just let it go. Breathed deep, and looked over his shoulder. Wanted to make the moment freeze in time, and move by all at the same time. Wanted to have met him three months from now, or two years ago. Anything besides the situation they were in right now.

He nuzzled against her temple, pressed a brief kiss to the skin there. “Cassie.”

And she couldn't hold back any longer. Her head turned so their lips met, gentle at first. His lips pressed against hers so softly, she wondered if it was the wind instead. But then she couldn't resist pressing up, into him. It was she who made the final choice to engage fully. Not that he had a choice, when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down.

The weight of his body above hers was a delicious contrast to the warm breeze they'd enjoyed. He heated her, body and soul, and she wanted more.

When his hand crept up to cradle the underside of one breast, she rotated to give him better access. Because her body was at complete odds with her mind, and she was letting her body do the talking. And God, what a conversation she was having.

Trey's lips pulled back from hers, just an inch. His eyes stared into hers, nearly as intensely blue as the sky behind him. “Don't make me wait to find you again. I'm going to go crazy.”

Sisters. Father. Family ties. Family promises.

He lightly pinched her nipple, and she bucked under him. Shit.

Cassie gasped and rolled a little. He eased up, taking his weight off her so she could escape fully. Rising up onto her hands and knees, she stared at the maroon blanket. Just for a minute, to give herself some balance back. The man had the most insane habit of throwing her off her balance. It wasn't fair.

“I can't say yes.”

He shifted, but she wouldn't look up. It was going to hurt too much.

Okay, she had to look. Settling back down on her butt, she stole a side peek. He was sitting cross-legged, waiting.

“I can't say yes,” she repeated, stupidly.

“You're not saying no,” he pointed out.

Yeah, about that . . . She grimaced and tried to think of something to say.

“Cassie . . . I can't leave without something. Anything. Your freaking email would suffice at this point. Just don't leave this parking garage without giving me something. Anything.”

After a moment, she nodded and reached over for her bag. She rooted around and grabbed her iPhone, then handed it to him. “Give me your cell phone number.”

He blinked and held her phone like he'd never seen one before.

“That way, I have control over whether we meet up again.” When he kept staring, she shook her head. “I can't . . . I don't think I could say no if you called me. This is the safest thing. If I call you, I'm going to know in my gut I did it because there was nothing else but that for me.”