5. Friends In High Places
FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES
E mma was having so much fun talking to Warren.
There was a tiny part of her that felt bad she didn’t let him know she was related to Eli and Hunter.
The other part of her had learned not to give too much about herself to strangers.
Just because Warren was well known in the public eye didn’t make him any less of a stranger to her.
Griffin’s roll of his eyes as she was walking out with Warren was nothing more than him assuming she was going to question the quarterback like she did everyone else she came across.
She was safe as she could be here with Warren and knew she was being watched.
She was probably safer here than in her own house, but Warren wouldn’t understand that.
“I grew up in a small town,” Warren said. He sat and picked up a carrot stick to put in his green dip.
Blah. She could do without fresh vegetables when drinking a beer.
She supposed that was part of how he was in such good physical condition though.
“Amore Island is about the same. During the tourist season the population triples, but otherwise it’s nothing more than a small town that you need a ferry to get on and off of.”
“Or a helicopter,” he said.
“Is that how you came over?” she asked.
She should have figured that.
“I did this time,” he said. “It’s faster.”
“And fewer people to want your autograph,” she said, grabbing another chip and crunching into it. Some of it broke and fell onto her plate, but she picked it up and put it in her mouth. “I’m sure Griffin makes sure people stay away from you here.”
“He does with the added security for me,” he said. “I don’t come often. They don’t have to do that for me since I’m not dropping big bucks down like many others do.”
“Whales,” she said.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“The big-time spenders are called whales. And you might not be the one dropping money, but I’d bet you’ve been here before with other professional athletes that might spend more.”
“Friends in high places,” he said.
“There you go. One hand feeds the other.”
She switched hands to get another chip and he laughed having caught what she’d done.
Not many got her humor.
She supposed it came from being in her own company so much. She thought she was funny, but she’d never tell herself she wasn’t.
“Are you always this happy?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Sometimes I’m miserable. I want to scream and shout. Or huff and puff and blow the place down.”
He snorted. “You’re funny.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I try.”
He laughed. “I don’t know if you’re joking or not.”
“Sometimes neither do I,” she said.
“Is that why you’re single?” he asked.
“We can go there,” she said. “As long as you answer the same questions as me.”
“Does that mean if you ask me one you’ve got to answer too?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “It’s only fair.”
“Okay,” he said. “Then let’s be fair. Why are you single?”
“A couple of reasons,” she said. “One. I’m kind of a hermit and not many men like or can appreciate it. The other is there are slim pickings on the island and I don’t like to leave it. So when you’re a hermit, your options are limited. Your turn.”
“I’m a hermit too when I can be,” he said. “So I understand your comment. I think women see me and assume I want to go out and party all the time. It’s the furthest thing from the truth. I like to get at least eight hours of sleep at night, if not more.”
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously? I’ve had nights I don’t go to bed at all.”
“That’s not healthy,” he said. “I hadn’t realized the bar was open that late.”
“It’s not,” she said. “That’s the only reason you’re single? Because I’m positive a lot of women would be a hermit to land you.”
“They would,” he said. “And those are the ones I’m running in the other direction from. I don’t need nor want anyone to feel as if they landed me.”
“Ahhh,” she said, pointing her finger. “We can agree on that. I want a man to want me and not what I can bring to the table.”
He angled his head but then nodded. “I come from a very humble beginning. I haven’t forgotten where I came from and never will. The number of zeros in my account doesn’t give me happiness at the end of the day.”
“What does?” she asked.
“You’ll have to answer that too,” he said, grinning.
“I will. You first.”
“Self-fulfillment brings me happiness,” he said. “A sense of accomplishment. A purpose. It doesn’t have to be winning a game, scoring a touchdown, or cooking the perfect turkey burger.”
“Turkey burger,” she said almost crying. “That’s a crime.”
He laughed. “You should see your face. As I told my sister last weekend when she came to visit for the draft, I’ll lighten up when I retire.”
“The draft?” she asked.
“First you need to answer what brings you happiness and then I’ll explain the draft to you.”
“A good book always brings me happiness. It always has. Money, it’s there to make life easier, but you need a purpose or reason to get up each day.
Kind of like what you said. All the money in the world is meaningless if you’re by yourself and are staring at an account like Scrooge.
You have to figure out how to make yourself happy. ”
“You get it,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of nights with a good book.”
“Really?” she asked. “What do you like to read?”
“You asked more than you give me a chance to answer,” he said. “You asked about the draft.”
“Oops,” she said. “Sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine. The draft is like when they get new players, right?”
“The cliff note version,” he said.
“That’s good enough. Though you said your sister was with you.”
“There you go again, more questions.”
Emma laughed and reached for a cucumber slice and dunked it in his dip, then made a face. “That dip would be better on a chicken sandwich,” she said.
“My personal chef has a lot of avocados for me to do that,” he said.
“Ooh la la, fancy,” she said. She could have one of those too but never would.
That was a bit pretentious.
But again, her ability to run fast or have the energy to play however long a game was wasn’t the same as flopping her ass in a chair to type.
He laughed. “A lot of players have personal chefs.”
“They do,” she said. “And I’m sorry. It makes a lot of sense as a necessity for your career. I’m just picking on you. Now you can tell me about what you like to read.”
“Crime. Mystery. Murders. Anything I can solve. Want to know one of my guilty pleasures?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “Unless it’s some other green vegetables, then I’ll pass.”
He reached over and took one of her nachos. It might not be completely loaded, but it was nice that he’d done it.
“I love true crime podcasts. I can get lost in them for hours.”
Her jaw dropped. “Get out!” she said, shoving his arm some. “Me too.”
He laughed. “There isn’t anything better than solving a great mystery and nothing more frustrating than unanswered questions.”
“Which is why you wanted to make sure we both answered the same ones?”
He pursed his lips. Very kissable lips to go with the dark eyes that were assessing her every move. As if he was trying to counter her like he did on the field.
His brown hair was a little longer than some of the pictures she’d seen of him online but still styled well.
The silver oxford shirt he was wearing was fitted to his body, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
She never realized how sexy that look was until she noticed it on Warren.
“I guess I never thought of it that way before,” he said. “I was just trying to be fair.”
“I like people who are fair,” she said.
“Me too,” he said. “I haven’t come across too many of them in my life.”
“Well, you’ve come across me,” she said, laughing.
When she saw his eyes deepen she realized the sexual connotation those words could mean and there her body went, lighting on fire, and her panties getting wet.