15. Chapter 15
Ames
"You should go to a game wearing Saint's jersey." Bear takes a swig of his beer. "That will really get Aidan thinking."
Dom pops a cheese cube into his mouth. "We don't want him thinking. We want him fuming!"
While Saint stands near me, taking small tasks off my hands like the most enthusiastic, best trained sous chef, the guys sit across from us at the other side of the kitchen island. We prepared a quick charcuterie board, served drinks, and I got busy preparing a hearty meal.
Now we debrief the events of the day, and my heart hasn't stopped drumming loudly against my breastbone. It's a slow, deep, persistent rhythm. Warmth underscores every beat, because these guys barely know me, and yet they're so clearly in my corner.
"Calling it a spectacle." Dom snorts. "He had to be jealous."
"Agreed," Damián says. "You guys were on point. It looked like you were just about ready to jump each other. He had to have seen it. "
On low heat, I toast the nuts I plan to add to my favorite pesto recipe. It will wake up the oils in each seed, and it allows me some privacy. If I focus on the stove, they can't look at my face.
I'm sure I'm blushing. Again. I can still feel the spot where Saint's hand brought me close to him, and the memory alone is enough to speed up my blood.
The way he gazed at me like he wanted me. The way his hard body became a pillar to support my softness. His promise to flirt with me.
He kissed my temple, then my hand, until all my skin tingled from his touch. When we held hands, with the warmth of his large palm against mine, and those thick, long fingers that just… they could…
Aaahhh.
I clear my throat, drink some water, and take the basil out of the fridge to use as decoration. If I stick my head in and let the appliance cool me down, they might not notice what the memories are doing to me.
"No, seriously." Dom nods as if to assert his point. "Come to a game, Ames. I'll get you a jersey with Saint's last name in big, bold letters on the back."
I steal a glance at the piano. Movers I didn't know about made room for it at the corner of the condo.
It was all set up before we arrived. The living room area itself is a bit tighter now, and a couple of armchairs are gone, but the instrument looks incredible.
Like it was always meant to be there. A maintenance person left only twenty minutes ago, too.
I don't know enough about it to discern if they did a good job, but I'm learning Saint doesn't do things halfway.
"Maybe I should go to a game after all," I say.
"Don't pressure her." Saint leans on the kitchen island in a sexy and relaxed pose.
Mischief dances in his eyes. I do my best to hide the smile that wants to take over my face, just because he looks playful. Like my brain immediately wants to match him.
He gazes at me, though he talks to his friends. "I don't even think that she likes football. "
I smirk. "All I will say is that the extent of my sport watching is rugby clips on social media."
They all groan, except for Damián who laughs.
I give him a conspiratorial look and I fake whisper, "It's the thighs."
"I've been told I have great thighs," Saint says.
"We all do," Logan adds.
"Respectfully," I insist, "rugby players are something else. But if I can watch one of your games with Evie and your other guests, maybe I can manage the anxiety and watch you all play."
Saint is about to respond when his phone rings. To everyone's surprise, Logan's ring tone goes off as well.
Logan frowns. "It's Evie."
Without much else but a nod, he steps out onto the terrace.
"It's my agent." Saint makes an apologetic gesture with a hand. "I have to take this."
He jogs to his room, and I finish dinner with Dom, Damián, and Bear keeping me company. Logan comes back first, just as we finish setting up the dinner table. His brows are wrinkled and heavy. It quiets us down.
He must be able to feel the effect his frown has on us, because it doesn't disappear, but it softens.
"Mmh," he utters. "We should wait for Saint. It's about the TV show."
"Does everyone know about the show?" I ask.
Damián nods. "We've been bugging Saint about it."
I return to the kitchen and get busy chopping cherry tomatoes. "Bugging him? Why?"
"Evie's been trying to get him on a baking show for a while," Dom says. "He's resisted it for as long."
But he said yes this time, and something tells me it was because of me.
Two, three, four cherry tomatoes go into a bowl with lettuce and cucumbers.
I count them the way I count my heartbeats.
In five insistent thumps, my heart tells me to be careful, that I shouldn't take all of this as evidence that he truly cares about me.
Because that crush looming in the distance is closer than I thought— it's just around the corner— and my feelings and his care could blend into dreams I can't afford.
Lead my heart down the wrong path, and make it do things it's not meant to do.
Not when the object of my affections objects to long-term affection.
Saint comes out of his room. Something about the slant of his mouth betrays it wasn't an easy call. A switch flips and I forget about my confused emotions. All I want is to ask him what worries him, but I say nothing yet.
He notices our attention is on him and his expression changes. It takes a friendlier form. Even the ghost of his dimples show.
"It's going to be fine," he says, though no one has asked anything yet. "There is news, but also… My agent heard the GM has been calling a couple of people. Testing the waters for a trade."
A chorus of complaints fill the room. Saint comes to the kitchen and grabs the salad bowl, as if nothing is amiss and he's ready to take it to the table. I don't say anything, but put a hand on his arm. He stills, and lets out a small breath.
Our eyes cross for a second. I see the worry he doesn't share. I squeeze his forearm and hope it tells him I care.
The show news can wait. This matters so much more.
"All I can do is win." His lips press into a thin line. "Get the MVP trophy if I can. That way they won't need a sacrificial lamb. They might feel justified to keep the best in the league."
"Good thing we're on your side. We'll win with you." Bear lifts his glass, punctuating his words with a toast.
"You're not going to get traded," Dom says. "That's the bet I'm going to win this season. It will be the biggest bet in Hypersquare history, too. It's going to get me the crown."
"You can get the crown if I get to stay." Saint shakes his head. "But you can't put that on the board."
"I don't need to," Dom replies. "I have witnesses. I'll figure something out. "
Logan adds a simple-but-severe nod. "A sealed envelope with our signatures will do."
"In that case, I appreciate the trust," Saint says. "I don't mind if you take the crown for the off season, if it means I stay."
"You'll stay," Logan insists. "And you'll be the MVP and get a ring out of it, too."
Saint sighs. His eyes land on me. He gazes across the group, the line of his shoulders relaxing somewhat.
"Thank you," he simply says.
With a small smile now softening his lips, he takes the salad to the table. He gets everyone to sit, including me, and he brings the big dish full of pasta and chicken bathed in basil, nuts, and spices. Soon, our plates are full and compliments in deep voices fill the room.
"This is incredible." Logan's tone isn't very expressive, but the words hold his admiration anyway. "I'm glad I stayed."
This time, Saint's smile is genuine. "I'm glad you still want me around, Logan, despite how disappointed you must be that you're not going on the TV show anymore."
I perk up. "Something happened with the show?"
I hadn't forgotten, but the trade took priority for a bit.
Logan doesn't react to Saint's sarcasm, but answers me. "I will let him explain, but some plans have changed. Evie just told me she and I are not going to the show anymore."
"Oh?" I turn to Saint. "What happened?"
"My agent let me know the TV show producers decided to change the direction of the show," he explains. "It will just be you and me, now, Ames."
I bite the inside of my cheek. This TV show is such a big opportunity I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. I've avoided thinking too hard about it, or the nerves and hope will take over, and I will be an anxious mess .
A show like this could open doors to new business opportunities, yes. It's also a gift. The chance to cook and share my food with people, bring my traditions and teachings with me, and build community through them.
"So you and I," I say. "Next Monday. Cooking together while the cameras roll."
Saint and I, together, spending a few hours doing my favorite thing in the world. Perhaps finding the magic of synchronicity, when two people fall into a harmony that needs no melody. While surrounded by a production team and a few cameras.
I lick my lips. Saint keeps on smiling, unaware.
"I'm happy to be your sous chef again." His dimples pop. "I will say 'Yes, chef!' as often as you want me to."
"Wait." Dom studies us. "That means you're missing the gala."
Logan nods. "And now Evie and I get to go. Good."
"Really?" Bear arches an eyebrow at the quarterback. "I wasn't sure you enjoyed the party last year."
"Oh, I did," he says. "She says I have to go, I go. She says plans have changed, I say it's all good. And I can't wait to spend time with my girlfriend while we're both dressed to impress, again."
"Should we dress to impress?" Saint asks me.
He's sitting to my side. His eyes sparkle. We share a long look that has enough warmth in it, enough playfulness, he might be flirting.
My heart skips a beat. Shyness threatens to come to life, because of the thoughts I'm having and because I'm at the receiving end of his attention. Despite the way it prickles up my backbone, I manage a smile.
"It's supposed to be like a holiday dinner party, right?" I ask. "We can dress up."
"I'll dress up for you." His grin stretches wide, deepening the notches on his cheeks. "Will you dress up, too?"
He doesn't say it in as many words, and I may be imagining things, but I can hear a different question hidden in his words.
Will you dress up for me ?
Butterflies explode in my stomach. Back at Aidan's place, I told Saint to flirt with me. Does this mean he's going to do it? And that he wants to see where it goes?
Yeah, that crush is imminent.
"I like dressing up," I say.
"And when you come to our next home game," Dom adds, "you get to wear Saint's jersey."
"I'm going to that game now?" I stare at the tight end.
"I think you should," Dom says. "Our Christmas game will be here."
"Would you mind?" I ask Saint.
He puts an arm around me, over the back of my chair. With a smile on his face, and those sweet dimples working overtime to make him look innocent, he leans close.
He gazes deep into my eyes. "First, the TV show. Then, you with my name on your back. I would love to have you there."
I believe him.
And just like that, my crush on my brother's friend, the popular jock who dates as easily as he breathes, who's a well-known flirt, takes root deep between my lungs.