Chapter 10
EXTRA POINT – KICK AFTER TOUCHDOWN.
Sleep was futile. All I could think about was that if I closed my eyes, I’d wake to find Maya had left the vineyard and in doing so would lump me in with her pathetic excuse for an ex-fiancé.
Rolling over, I face the window where the first rays of the sun trickle through.
The vines my family has cultivated for hundreds of years stand in dark silhouettes, the rows reminding me of Maya—strong, frighteningly determined, yet somehow hauntingly fragile.
My chest tightens. From the moment we met when Bryce told me he was getting married, she intrigued me.
Rolling onto my back, I think back to our first meeting.
I make my way onto the rooftop balcony of the club where the team owners of the Oklahoma Lightning host a party after the NFL filmed a retrospective about the Oklahoma Lightning. With a sigh, I murmur, “At least it’s quiet up here.”
A husky feminine voice in the shadows laughs. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
I take a step back on my right leg before I realize I didn’t brace my thigh muscles.
My knee gives way. My ACL never truly recovered after someone brutally tackled me, shredding it while I attempted an extra point.
I let out a string of curses, even as I tried to catch the metal bar to avoid going down.
That’s when she bounded out of the shadows, aiming right for me. “Hey, hey! Are you okay?”
Without hesitation, she notched her shoulder under my armpit to prevent me from meeting the concrete. I felt the heat of my embarrassment crawl up my neck, so my voice was gruff when I said, “I’m okay.”
She remained tucked beneath my arm for a moment until she was certain I was steady before moving away slowly.
That’s when I noticed she wasn’t wearing heels, but sparkling Converse Chucks along with a form-fitting dress.
She glances down at my custom-made dress shoes and remarks candidly, “Maybe the Tricker’s weren’t a good choice. ”
My brows skyrocket. “I’m impressed.”
“That I know what shoes you’re wearing?” She shrugs as if knowing the United Kingdom’s oldest shoemaker is something everyone would know. “I apparently know a lot of odd knowledge since I travel a lot for my work.”
I give her a full perusal from her wild curls, down her curvaceous body, to her adorable sneakers. When my eyes linger on her sparkling bright smile, I ask, “What do you do?”
She’s the first woman I’ve found myself intrigued by since I was injured and released from my contract with the Lightning.
Almost a year of physical therapy, relocating to Italy to assume responsibility for the family vineyard, and of all places I find a woman I’m interested in, it’s here at a look back at what could have been.
An insight into my past. But maybe I’m being given a look into my future as I study the pretty woman who holds me captive.
Her answer interests me even more. “I’m a travel photojournalist.”
There’s no way my luck could be this good, I think to myself. I lean closer. “Do you get to Europe much?”
She shuffles closer. “Actually, I do. I…”
But she never finishes her sentence. The door behind us slams open, startling us both.
Her head snaps around and a smile the likes of which I’ve never been the recipient of blooms. It speaks of care and devotion.
With that, I feel my stomach drop to the bottom of the shoes she was mocking earlier.
I wonder what kind of man is lucky enough to earn her attention?
Slowly, I turn and gape when Bryce strides toward the two of us. His trademark grin is in place when he slaps me on the shoulder. “Hey buddy. I see you’ve met Maya.”
Even as I try to recover, I turn back to Bryce’s fiancée and offer her my gratitude again. “Not officially. She just prevented me from taking a header.”
“Ahh. Then let me be the one to make the introductions. Maya, I know you’ve heard me talk about Troy. Troy, my girl, Maya Cox.”
“A pleasure to finally meet you, rescue notwithstanding.” Maya holds out her hand. “I apologize for not recognizing you. Bryce has mentioned you often. And fondly.”
The moment I clasp her fingers in mine, I feel a spark shoot up my arm. I keep my eyes on her and manage, “No apologies necessary, I promise you, Maya. The pleasure is entirely mine.”
“Thank you, Troy. That means a lot,” Maya murmurs as she leans into Bryce.
Even though she may hate me for it, I kept that promise. Maya deserves someone who will cherish her every single day of her life, not someone as fucked up as Bryce in her life. Still, I wonder—even after I showed her the video last night—does she still link the two of us together?
I thought it was fate that had her booking a room here for a month. Still, she could walk away at any moment, slip through my fingers without looking back. And the worst part? I wouldn’t even blame her.
Would I want to stare into one man’s face and remember the humiliation I suffered at another’s?
I roll over and howl into my pillow before lifting my head and sighing, “There’s only one way to find out.”
It involves getting out of this bed and pulling up my big-boy underwear along with swallowing a healthy dose of courage.
When I make it into the kitchen, it’s silent. I move over to my American coffee maker and get a pot brewing. While that’s percolating, I pull out a cutting board and slice up some crusty bread. In the middle of the third slice, I hear Maya’s voice ask, “Tell me there’s enough coffee for two?”
She’s still here. A pervasive relief travels through me. Pausing in my cutting so she doesn’t need to rescue me again, I set the knife aside before greeting her. “Buongiorno, Maya. Did you sleep well?”
She side eyes me before sliding onto a stool. “Can I answer that after caffeine?”
“Absolutely. Do you have a preference—American or Italian-style?”
“Yes.”
“Which is it? What do you like?”
“Volume and immediacy.” She sounds like a cranky child being denied sugar.
I grin. I can’t fight it. Reaching up, I pull down the largest mug I have—my own. As I pour, I ask, “Room for cream?”
“Please.” When I set the cup in front of her, she inhales deeply. I gesture to sugar, as well as a jar of spoons in the center of the table for her to doctor her coffee.
“And I thought I was the only one who needed a tank of coffee in the morning.”
She shakes her head, setting her curls shaking. “Must. Have. Coffee.”
I move swiftly over to the refrigerator to pull out the carafe of fresh cream.
Not bothering to transfer it to a more guest-appropriate vessel, I plunk it down in front of her only to have her snatch it up almost before the glass touches the countertop.
Once it’s mostly filled, Maya snatches the mug to her lips and takes a small sip.
Then another.
Finally, she lets out a small sigh before lifting her bright blue eyes to mine and proclaiming, “There’s hope humanity can live another day.”
I can’t help it. Laughter erupts even as I tease, “All that from coffee? Guess I should’ve brought you the entire pot instead of a mug.”
Her eyes crinkle, but she shakes her head even as her curls tumble forward—hiding her face.
Despite the limited time I’d had with Maya before her world became social media fodder, I picked up on how she used to do that physical maneuver to hide her next smarmy comment. “Still dramatic over caffeine?”
“Who isn’t?” I retort, but the words don’t land the way I intend because there’s one person we both know who wasn’t a slave to caffeine the way the two of us were. The one person who ties us together.
Bryce.
The hum of the refrigerator and the clink of her fiddling with her spoon are the only sounds in the kitchen as the past lies between us.
Maya lifts her mug to her lips, trying for relaxed, but her body’s too coiled.
Like she doesn’t trust herself to relax around me—or worse, like she doesn’t want to.
And that’s the only thing I want more than anything else in the world.
I clear my throat. “So…what are your plans while you’re here?”
Her gaze flicks to mine, wary. Then her shield drops just enough to make my heart stutter. “Today, I thought I’d walk around. Get the lay of the land.”
“That’s good. Do you need—want—a tour guide?”
Her head shakes and sets her curls bouncing again. “Not yet.”
I take hope from her words. She said “yet,” as if she means to stay longer than just today. As casually as I can manage, I turn my back to her and pull down a second mug to make my own coffee. “Just let me know.”
She slides off her stool, clutching her cup like it’s her lifeline. “Am I permitted to take this to my room?”
“You’re welcome to do whatever you want, wherever you want,” I blurt out.
Her eyes widen before she throws her head back and laughs.
My eyes are drawn to the slim line of her smooth skin. When she comes down from her hilarity, a ghost of a smile graces her lips. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m about to check in with my girls,” as if that explains it all.
I think about my words before I groan. There’s no way to prevent the burning flush from climbing my cheeks.
Maya teases, “Look at you blushing like you just met Brendan Blake backstage.”
“Considering I did a long time ago, I know for damn certain I didn’t turn beet red.”
Maya’s expression clearly calls me a liar. “You blush. All the time.”
Just for you. Every time I’m around you. You just never noticed. Smoothly, I reply, “Then, I guess some things don’t change.”
“Some things do.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.
Suddenly the coffee isn’t the only thing heating up in this kitchen. Her eyes flick to mine, lightning-bright, daring me to look away. I don’t. I can’t. For a second, the air tightens between us, all static and possibility, as if I reached out, one of two things could happen.
I could pull her against me, and we’d have the ability to build on the ease from that first night on the rooftop. Or, the catastrophic option, Maya disappears from my life as part of her effort to erase the life she endured with her douche canoe ex.
Before I can decide, she’s heading for the exit. “Thanks for the coffee. I needed it desperately.” Her voice trembles enough to tell me it’s not the whole truth, but she’s not ready to share what it is.
“I’ll leave a property map and a list of cell phone numbers for you on the counter in the event something happens,” I promise.
She offers me a wan smile before disappearing through the doors and likely back up to her room to make her call.
As I watch her slip away, I know one thing with absolute certainty—I’m much more stimulated by something other than coffee this morning.