Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (3 page)

“I can walk,” she protested. Man, he smelled good, like fresh air and laundry soap. She was a little more buzzed than she thought.

“I’m helping you.”

“I don’t need your help.” She heard the tulle rip as she yanked the underskirt away from the heel piercing it. “Fixed it,” she informed him proudly.

“Where’s your room?”

For some unknown reason this was hilarious. She had an overwhelming impulse to giggle. “Upstairs,” she managed to choke out.

“Do you remember which floor you’re on?”

The room was tilting. Was there an earthquake? Nobody else seemed to be worried.

“Of course I do.”

Matt pulled the black evening bag out of her slack fingers, opened it, and examined the room key. “No room number.”

“It’s on the third floor. How hard could it be to find, anyway?”

She tried to move away from him. Though the tulle had torn away from her heel, the dress still wound around her ankles. She pulled it free, reached out to grab her purse out of Matt’s fingers, and attempted to walk. She grabbed at one of the barstools in an effort to right herself.

“That dress is dangerous. Come on, Fifi. I’ll walk you to your room.” Matt took her elbow.

After a series of trial and errors, Matt and Amy managed to find her room before hotel security was summoned. The keycard only worked in the correct door, so they didn’t disturb anyone else. Amy pushed the door open, and Matt followed her inside.

“Thanks for walking me back to my room, but I’m okay now. Really. You can leave.” She held the door open with one sandaled foot and pointed into the hallway with a somewhat unsteady finger. “Out.”

Matt actually snickered. He still held her elbow. He marched her across the room, plopped her into the easy chair by a sliding glass door, opened it a bit, and tossed his jacket on the bed.

“I’m going to buy you a very large glass of water and a couple of aspirin. You need to get it all down.” She tried to push herself out of the chair. He was having none of this. “Just relax.”

The room was spinning, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Amy realized that she had a much more immediate problem. Her dress had thirty small, fabric-covered buttons down the back. How was she ever going to get this thing off by herself? Plus, it wasn’t smart to ask someone else she didn’t know, no matter how cute he was or how many times she had watched him on television, to half-undress her.

Matt was on the phone with room service, and she stood up from the chair. For some reason, it didn’t feel like she stood up straight. She felt crooked. She shoved the slider further open, and ventured out onto the balcony overlooking Lake Washington.

Matt was on the balcony in a flash, too. He surprised her by grabbing both her shoulders in his hands.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You shouldn’t be out here.”

“It’s cold.” The chilly air slapped Amy in the face. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m earning another Boy Scout merit badge.” His voice was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “I’ll leave when I know you’re settled in for the night.”

She grabbed the balcony railing with both hands. The sky shouldn’t be spinning. “There’s just one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I . . . I can’t get this dress off by myself.”

She heard a low chuckle in her ear. “You know, I’ve heard this happens to other guys.” He moved closer and murmured, “Dear
Penthouse
: She begged me to take her dress off.”

“I can handle this,” she stubbornly insisted. “Never mind. I don’t need your help.”

“You’ll be wearing that dress for the next week if I don’t help you, sport. Let’s see here.” Matt’s fingers grazed the top button.

“We’re outside and it’s dark. You can’t even see.”

“I work by braille,” he assured her. “How’d you get this on in the first place?”

“My mom helped me.” Emily and Amy’s mom had some colorful things to say about Vera Wang by the time she was finished. “People will see us! We should go inside—” She felt cool air on her skin as another button opened.

“Well, Mom’s not here now, is she? Dizzy, Fifi?”

Amy’s knuckles showed white as she held the balcony railing in a death grip. Matt’s warm breath tickled the back of her neck. His scent filled her nostrils—fresh air, clean skin, some musky stuff that must have been him, because it wasn’t like any other men’s cologne she’d ever smelled before. It mingled pleasantly with the cool night air.

Her hands slipped off the balcony railing as his quickly moving fingers set her free from a smooth prison of fabric. Of course, the building mood was shattered instantaneously. He stepped on the ripped underskirt at the back of Amy’s dress, she lost her balance, and her arms flailed as she fell against his chest. She also managed to get him in the gut with one elbow.

“Damn, Fifi, what the hell was that?” he wheezed.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you! It was an accident! I—”

He grasped her forearm for balance. “You’re just a menace, aren’t you?”

Amy left her dress in a pile on the bathroom floor. Her slip, pantyhose, and bra followed it. She’d get the hairpins from her former updo out in the morning. She washed her face with soap and water, wriggled into the t-shirt and shorts she brought from home, and walked back into the room once more.

A tray with water, pain relievers, and a napkin-draped basket waited on the computer desk. The scent of freshly baked bread made her mouth water.

“Sleepy,” was all Amy could get out.

“I’ll bet. First, though, let’s have some bread. It’s still warm.” He held out the basket. Matt looked more delicious than the bread: He had perfect muscles; he smelled good; he was taller than she was, which was always a good thing.

“Sleepy,” Amy repeated. “It’s time for bed.”

Before she knew it, she was tucked up in the bed, alone. He was explaining something to her. All she had to do was concentrate.

“I’ll leave the light on . . .” His words floated back to her from somewhere in the room.

“Thank you.” She rolled onto her side, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Realizing Matt was still there, she forced her eyes open and attempted to focus on his face. “Do you always rescue women?”

“Only the beautiful ones,” Matt assured her.

Everything was wonderful. As a matter of fact, everything was perfect. She was finally horizontal. The room didn’t spin as long as she lay perfectly still.

Matt sat down next to her. It took a few minutes, but she realized he was slowly pulling the pins out of her wrecked hairdo. He was still talking.

“Just sleep. It’ll all be better tomorrow.”

“No, it won’t. Brian left.”

“Who’s Brian?”

“He’s a lawyer.” Amy let out a gusty sigh. “I don’t like lawyers.”

Matt let out a snort. “I don’t like them, either.”

“I shouldn’t be sad about him.” She flipped onto her back, squeezed her eyes shut to stop the spinning, and threw a forearm over her eyes.

“No, you shouldn’t, Fifi.”

“I hate men,” she insisted. “Well, except for you.”

Matt made a sound somewhere between a choke and a chuckle. He sounded like he was smiling, though. “It’s good to know that. Why don’t you get some sleep, huh?”

“Why were you late to the wedding, Matt? You should have been there.” If she could get the bed to spin in the same direction as the room did every time she moved, it would be a good thing. “It was perfect. Emily was so beautiful. The food was really good, and Brandon was so funny during the toast, and . . .”

Matt interrupted her. “I hate weddings.”

“Why? Too mushy, or no tequila till the reception?”

“Someone always gets married.” Matt was still carefully extracting the pins from her hair. Amy opened her eyes to see him studying her for a long moment. “Do you like weddings?”

“I have to go to a lot of them because I do the flowers. But, truthfully? I’m not sure I like them, either.”

“I thought all women liked that stuff.”

She wrinkled her nose and tried to shake her head before deciding it wasn’t the smartest move. “Nice stereotyping, Sparky.”

“Come on. You know I’m right.”

“It’s not the wedding so much as the rest of it. Mostly I want a family. If I have to go through it to get one, I will.”

They both fell silent for several minutes. Amy was half-asleep. Strangely enough, it was comforting to hear Matt speak, and listen to his breathing in the darkened room. She had the vague thought that maybe she should be keeping an eye on Matt. He was a stranger. It wasn’t good to be alone in a hotel room with a stranger. Plus, she was telling him about Brian. She was going to give this some serious thought later on. At the same time, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open longer than a few seconds at a time.

“Sleepy yet?” Even in her less-than-sober state, there was something in his voice that made her open her eyes once more. He looked sad. “It’s time to say goodnight, Fifi.”

“Maybe.” She snuggled down into the blankets. “My name’s not really Fifi.”

“I know it’s not.”

“It could be.”

“Oh, I’m sure it could. I’m guessing the only thing you have in common with the other Fifi I’ve met is that you probably like bacon.”

“Everyone likes bacon,” she sighed.

“The other Fifi was a lovely standard poodle owned by my former next-door-neighbors. She enjoyed long walks on the beach and sunsets, too.” She had to smile a little, and he pulled the blankets up to her nose. “Shhh. You’ll feel better in the mor— That’s a damn lie. You’ll feel better eventually,” he muttered.

She wondered if she was sending some kind of Morse code with her eyelids.

“I’ve got it.” Amy snapped her fingers. Well, she tried to. They weren’t working correctly. “It doesn’t matter if I ever get married, does it? I could still have a baby. I’ll just adopt. Everyone’s doing it now.”

“Sure you could. It can’t be that hard.”

“If the adoption thing doesn’t work, I’ll . . . well, I’ll just find a sperm donor. He doesn’t have to have anything to do with me or the baby. It’ll be great!” Matt flinched. “Are you cold? There’s lots of blankets. Here.” She sat up, and let out a groan. “If the room would just stop spinning . . .”

She tried to pull the blanket at the foot of the bed out from under him, but she couldn’t budge his weight.

“I’m fine. Lie down,” he said.

A few minutes went by. Maybe she imagined it, but she heard him say, “Why would you be in the market for a sperm donor when the old-fashioned way’s a hell of a lot more fun?”

T
HE NEXT TIME
Amy opened her eyes, sunlight streamed through the hotel room windows. She was alone.

A small army had set up shop inside her head, pounding something incredibly intricate on her brain pan with miniature hammers. Her mouth felt like she’d wandered the Sahara for a week. When she wasn’t suffering from terminal cotton mouth, the room was still spinning.

“Uhhh,” she groaned. Silence greeted her.

She focused her eyes long enough to see an orderly pile of hairpins next to an envelope on the nightstand that read “Fifi.” It wasn’t her imagination. She’d spent most of the previous evening with Matt Stephens. She flopped back into the pillows with the envelope in her hand, and let out a moan. She remembered last night while her stomach did a figure-eight.

Oh, God. What had she said to him, anyway? Snatches of last night’s conversation were coming back to her. Of course, the sweet, comforting part was completely lost on Amy when she thought about the reality: She’d just spilled her guts to a guy she didn’t even know. To make things worse, he was a nationally known, really, really handsome guy she didn’t even know.

She’d told him she hated men. She’d let him unbutton her dress. On the balcony, no less! Had she really told him about Brian? She gave him a fake name, which of
course
reminded him of his neighbor’s dog. Even worse, she’d said something about a
sperm donor.
. . . Oh, God, no.

No. It wasn’t true. She dreamt it all. Amy tore the envelope open, and flinched with the combination of the noise involved and the fact that she knew, deep in her heart, it wasn’t a dream.

His business card fell out of the folded note. “Fifi,” he had scrawled in a heavy, dark hand. “I had appointments this morning, so I had to leave. I might have a solution for that problem you’re having. Coffee? Matt.”

Chapter Two

M
ATT
S
TEPHENS WOKE
up alone in his own bed the next morning. It would be good to say this happened often, but it wouldn’t be truthful. It had happened more and more lately, though, and not due to a lack of invitations. He was less than interested in taking things to their natural conclusion with the vast number of women he was meeting these days. Mostly, he wanted someone to come home to, and he hadn’t met her yet.

After “Fifi” fell asleep the night before, he’d made sure she was tucked in and more water and aspirin waited for her on the nightstand, then he’d slipped out of her room after leaving his contact information. He was musing on the over/under of Fifi calling him for the coffee date he’d suggested when he heard a feminine voice calling out to him.

“Matt? Matt, are you awake?” He heard muffled footsteps on the carpet runner in the hallway outside of his bedroom. “I’m hungry. Someone ate the last toaster pastry, and it wasn’t me.”

His gangly fourteen-year-old daughter padded into his bedroom, clad in a “Team Edward” t-shirt and sweat pants; she had cobalt-blue streaks through her almost waist-length, inky black hair. She shoved the mass out of her eyes, and regarded him through Kohl pencil smeared from eyelid to temple. He wished she wouldn’t wear the stuff.

“And you think I ate it?”

“Maybe someone broke into the house and took it,” she suggested. She threw herself down next to him.

“Wanna watch cartoons?” he enticed. “I love Ren and Stimpy.”

“No, thanks. I need to get dressed. I’m going shopping today. Don’t you have a meeting?”

He definitely had a meeting, but he could stall. Right now, he needed a few minutes with the most important female in his life. He propped himself up against the headboard.