Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
Jason
The bagel shop is crowded, but given that it’s a Sunday morning, I wouldn’t expect anything less. There’s a reason so many people come here; the bagels are that amazing.
I’m feeling good after our win last night—and my private show after. My knee doesn’t even hurt. I haven’t felt this good in a long time, at least since Harper served me with the divorce papers. I’m finally feeling like myself again.
Shuffling into line, I notice the dark-haired beauty in front of me, and my dick instantly reacts. I adjust my stance and clear my throat, but it does nothing to quench the heat simmering just beneath my skin.
I want her. I can’t have her, and I fucking want her anyway.
The line shuffles forward, and we all take a step.
Amelia is wearing jeans and a long-sleeved top, her hair pulled back from her face with a pink silk scrunchie. I wonder if it’s the same one she wore that night we slept together.
Ahem. Shared a bed. Her bed.
I still don’t know how that happened. She didn’t say anything the next day, so I didn’t either. I must have been pretty messed up for her to take me back to her room.
But nothing happened. Deep in my heart, I know nothing inappropriate happened between us. Even if I wanted it to, I was in no shape to act on my feelings. Fuck, I probably couldn’t have even gotten it up with the amount of whiskey I had.
She steps up to the counter, placing an order for two dozen bagels, and then moves off to the side while they pack it up.
The clerk waves me forward, and I order my usual pumpernickel, tomato, and lox sandwich. It’s my Sunday morning treat. Also, we have the day off—I can deviate from the diet plan just a smidge.
As I move to the counter to pay, I notice Amelia do a double take from the corner of my eye. I tap my card and join her at the side of the counter, waiting for my order.
“Good morning,” I say, slipping my wallet back into my pocket.
“Morning.”
Do I bring up last night’s show?
“Good game last night,” she finally says. “Congrats on the goal.”
“Thanks.” Pride puffs up my chest. It was a dirty goal, but they don’t all have to be pretty as long as they’re effective.
And it was. It brought the tally to three and one, and we took home the win.
“So, your brothers…”
Her shoulders tense. “Yeah? What about them?”
“I didn’t realize he was a ball player.”
“Yep.” Her voice is tight. “He’s okay.”
I choke out a laugh. “He was the league MVP twice in three years. He’s won four Golden Glove awards. And he’s not even thirty yet!”
“Eh.” She shrugs.
Gaping, I turn to face her, and notice the laughter dancing in her eyes.
“For real, I’m incredibly proud of him,” Amelia says. “He worked his ass off to get to where he is. He’s one of my heroes.”
“MacGregor’s, too.” The dude is obsessed with baseball.
She chuckles. “Yeah, I could tell. What about you? You into baseball?”
I shrug. “I mean, I support all Boston sports. But unless it’s a specific matchup, I’m not usually watching. Was kind of busy last summer.”
“Right. With the divorce and all.”
Wincing, I say, “You heard about that?”
“I’m sorry.” She cocks her head. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say?”
“Eh. I’m not sorry. It needed to end. We had nothing to say to each other anymore.”
“Still. It must be difficult.”
“It’s over.” The finality in my tone makes her blink, and I clear my throat. “I don’t think about her anymore. We aren’t in contact. I’m moving on.”
She already has. We sold the house, and Harper moved in with her new guy before the ink on the divorce decree dried.
“Amelia!” The shop clerk holds out two heavy bags and another calls out, “Jason!”
“Need help carrying that?” I ask as I take my tiny little sandwich bag.
Her eyes flash. “Why? Because I’m a woman and obviously—”
“Because those bags are full, and the straps don’t look strong enough to support their weight,” I snap back.
She blinks.
“Besides, we’re basically going to the same place.”
Our apartments are three blocks away.
“Fine. If you insist.” Scowling, she hands over one bag, keeping the other for herself.
“Give me both. I can handle it.”
She grumbles under her breath, but she does as I ask. Such a brat. We trade until she’s holding my little bag, and I’m carrying her two bulging bags.
“After you.”
We walk in silence for a block and a half before she turns to me.
“Thanks,” Amelia says, so quietly I almost think I imagined it.
“Any time.” I adjust the weight of the bagels in my grasp. “What are you doing with so many bagels? Do you freeze them?”
“We’re having bagel brunch.” She pauses. “Do you… would you like to join us?”
“Sure.” It’s not like I have anything better to do with my Sunday.
And secretly, I’m dying to get to know her, to find out what makes her tick.
Acting on this attraction is a bad idea, but I can fantasize in the privacy of my head all I want. Nobody has to know.
A doorman opens the front door, and Amelia scans a fob at the turnstile, granting us access to the elevator bank. She punches the button for the nineteenth floor.
“You totally don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to,” she says as the elevator hurtles upward. “I don’t want to pressure you into it.”
“You’re not.” My chuckle sounds forced. “Trust me, if I didn’t want to stay, I’d have no problem heading home.”
“Well, it’s so far away.” I think there’s a hint of a smile, if I squint.
“Better than sitting in my place and watching you guys have a party without me,” I point out.
She lets out a little giggle, the sound bringing a smile to my face.
“Come on. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
We exit on her floor, and she leads me down the hallway to her front door. There’s a mat out front that reads “Welcome-ish: Depends on who you are and how long you’re staying.”
Instantly, I know this isn’t her decoration, but she wholeheartedly agrees with it. If I had to wager a guess, it was Tyler’s find, but Brandon’s the one who displayed it out in the hall rather than inside the front door.
“Honey, I’m home,” Amelia calls as she opens the front door. “Please be wearing clothes.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Brandon says, striding down the hallway to meet us. His hair is rumpled, his shirt buttons off-skew. “We finished up ten minutes ago.”
She makes a face. “I already have to hear you having sex every night. You don’t need to give me a play-by-play, too.”
He slings an arm over her shoulder. “Well, sweetie, when two people love each other very much—”
She elbows him in the gut, and he coughs.
“I brought McKittrick,” she says, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “Come on, you can set the bagels in the kitchen.”
Tyler is wearing a black apron over a collared shirt, slicing tomatoes. “You took forever,” he complains.
“The shop was busy. Next time, you can go get them yourself,” she snaps.
“Nah. Much rather send you.” He smirks. “She roped you into helping?”
“Something like that,” I mutter. “Good to see you again.”
“I invited him to stay,” she adds.
“Glad to have you.” Brandon claps me on the back, and then takes one bag from my arms. “The more, the merrier.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I offer.
“Nah. Just chill for a bit. Want a coffee? Or a beer?”
“Coffee would be great.” I drop the other bag on the counter.
Amelia bustles through the small kitchen to the coffeemaker, pulling down a mug from the cupboard and popping a pod into the machine.
“So, you do this often? Bagel brunch?”
“In the off-season, as much as we can,” Brandon says. “Gotta enjoy the downtime while it lasts.”
“I feel that.” Although baseball gets more time off than hockey does, it always feels like the weeks slip by.
Tyler arranges the tomatoes on a platter, layering it with the red onion and cucumber already sliced. It’s only then that I look over at the table. It’s set for ten.
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not,” Amelia says, bringing me a hot pink mug. The side says “Bad Bitch.”
If she thinks she’s embarrassing me by giving me this one, she isn’t. I’m definitely a Bad Bitch.
“I added cream, no sugar,” she adds.
I blink. She knows my coffee order. Opening my mouth, she cuts me off.
“Shut up,” she snaps.
“Shutting up,” I repeat obediently, and her eyes flash.
In short order, we’re banished from the kitchen, and we retreat to the sofa while Tyler finishes preparing everything.
“He’s kind of a perfectionist,” Brandon says, fondness softening his face. “He doesn’t get to cook nearly as much as he used to.”
“Oh?”
“Ty’s a chef,” Amelia adds.
“He gave up the restaurant gig when we moved to Boston,” his husband adds. “He has a meal delivery business, preparing food for guys on the team.” He cocks his head. “I think some of the Grizzlies are on his service, too, come to think of it.”
“If they aren’t yet, they will be soon,” Ty calls from the kitchen. “I’m just biding my time.”
“Do you work with a dietitian?” I ask.
Brandon nods. “He has someone on staff, but if you have a team nutritionist you receive orders from, he’s happy to work with them. His clientele is almost exclusively athletes.”
“That’s really neat. I hate cooking, and to be honest, it’s getting more and more difficult to stay on the diet plan,” I admit. Harper did most of my meal preparation. She was a much better cook than me.
“Well, if you want to be added to the roster, take Ty’s card,” Brandon says. “He’ll whip something up for you.”
“You’re my best salesman,” the chef says from the other room. “Love you.”
“Love you more,” the baseball player sings back.
There’s a knock at the door, and Amelia stands to greet the guests. To my surprise, it’s Larsson and his fiancée, Vanessa.
“Thank you for inviting us,” the Swede says in his crisp accent. His hand clenches Vanessa’s tightly, his face strained. He’s not one for socializing. It’s a marker of how much he loves her that he’s able to set aside his personal discomfort for her benefit.
“I’m so glad you made it.” Amelia ushers them in. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Larsson shakes his head, and then catches sight of me in the room. His eyes widen.
“Come in, come in.” She goes to close the door when something makes her pause.
But it’s only Andrews, Joaquin, and Patrice, the other staffers she hangs out with. Now I definitely feel like the odd man out.
“I brought booze,” Andrews says, holding up a bottle of champagne and another of vodka.
“Now the party’s started,” Brandon says, with a grin. “Bloody Marys?”
“Fuck, yes.” He cocks his head when he clocks me in the room. “Hey, McKittrick. You’re joining us for brunch?”
“Yeah. That okay?”
“We’ll kick you out when we’re done with you,” Tyler says with a laugh from the kitchen. He brings a platter laden with bagels to the table. “Come, let’s eat.”