10. Football, First Downs, and Fast Feet
10
Foster
When I get back to the house, Hadley is nowhere to be found, so I head upstairs to the bathroom to fix the toilet. Reaching down behind the bowl, I turn the valve to shut off the water flow. Pulling the lid off the tank, I set it on the floor. Digging through the plastic bag, I pull out the new ballcock valve, grinning as I set it aside.
I wasn’t sure what tools Hadley owns, so to be safe, I also bought an adjustable wrench, which I pull out and set on the counter next to the valve. Turning back to the toilet, I flush it to drain the tank. Straightening, I pull my shirt off and throw it over the top of the shower’s glass enclosure so it doesn’t get wet or dirty.
I hear a small sound behind me, and I turn to see Hadley in the doorway, her big gray eyes wide as her gaze burns across my skin, following the inky swirls that decorate my neck, shoulders, chest, and arms. I stand frozen as she inspects every inch of them, my breaths coming faster with each second that passes. Her throat bobs as she swallows thickly, then her gaze snaps back up to mine before she coughs lightly.
“I brought my toolbox,” she says with a scratchy voice before stepping forward and lifting the plastic case I hadn’t noticed a little higher in the air.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for it though I already have the tool I need.
My fingers brush over hers as I take it from her. An almost-silent gasp slips out of her at the contact, but I pretend not to hear it as I set the toolbox on the counter and turn back toward the toilet.
“Well, I’ll just let you get to work,” she says in a chopped, uneven cadence.
I look over my shoulder and catch her staring at my bare back as I nod in response.
“O-okay, then. Bye,” she chirps, then scurries out of the bathroom without a backward glance.
I shake my head and try not to think about her intense perusal as I grab the wrench and squat down to disconnect the water line from the tank. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve got the valve replaced and the water back on. I give it a test flush, and it works perfectly, filling the tank and shutting off without a problem.
Packing the new wrench into Hadley’s toolbox, I lock the clasp before snatching my shirt from the shower stall and sliding it back over my head, tucking my arms through the arm holes.
“It’s fixed?”
I turn to find Hadley once more in the doorway and this time, her eyes stay firmly locked on my face. I tug the hem of my shirt down over my torso and give her a nod.
“Good as new.”
“Thank you,” she squeals, leaping forward to wrap her arms around my waist in a tight hug.
The move was unexpected, and I fall back a step before quickly regaining my balance. I give my arms a shake before carefully returning her hug. My fingertips barely skim her lower back before she’s pulling away with a wide smile I can’t help but return despite the fact that she’d ended that hug far too soon.
“I’m cooking you a special dinner.”
“Hadley, you don’t need to do that. I’m happy to help out around here,” I say, but she’s already shaking her head before I get the words out.
“I’m cooking you a special dinner,” she repeats, this time more firmly. “It’s the least I can do to thank you. It’ll be ready in an hour.”
With that, she spins and disappears again. I hear a nearby door click closed, telling me she went into her bedroom rather than back downstairs. As I continue to stare at the now-empty doorway, a wide smile stretches across my face.
A special dinner with Hadley West sounds really fucking great right now.
I showered before I went downstairs earlier, but after working inside a toilet for the last quarter-hour, I feel like I need another one. I finish cleaning up and take Hadley’s toolbox into my bedroom. Grabbing a fresh pair of jeans, underwear, and a button-down shirt, I leave the box on my bed and head back into the bathroom.
After my shower, I dress quickly and take more time than usual to blow dry and style my hair. I spritz on some cologne and apply some deodorant, then I head back to my room and toss my dirty clothes into the hamper in the corner. Sitting on the bed, I pull on some socks and my shoes.
I grab the toolbox from beside me as I stand, then head downstairs. The heavenly scent of Italian spices and herbs leads me to the kitchen, where I find Hadley bent at the waist, that gorgeous ass in the air. She’s wearing a pair a dark-washed skinny jeans that show off her curves, and my mouth waters at the sight.
I must make a sound, because Hadley pops upright and spins around, her face flushed. Whether from the heat of the oven or my sudden presence behind her, I’m not sure.
“Oh, hey,” she says, closing the oven door. “The lasagna will be ready in about five minutes.”
“It smells delicious,” I say, setting the toolbox on the counter.
“I sweet-talked the recipe out of Miss Nelly. Her lasagna is legendary in this town.”
“Ah, Miss Nelly,” I say, one corner of my mouth tilting upward. “I’ve heard about her lasagna. I’ve also heard about her cat.”
Hadley chuckles, a deep, husky sound that sends shivers over my skin.
“She does love to shock people by calling that cat her puss.”
I laugh with her, and some of the sexual tension I felt earlier drains out of me. I can do this. We can have a nice dinner and get to know each other better without any added pressure. This is her way of telling me thank you for helping her out.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Hadley shoos me into the dining room, instructing me to open the bottle of chilled pinot grigio she left on the table and pour each of us a glass while she finishes up. When I enter the room, I see she has two place settings beautifully set up, one at the end of the long table and the other at the chair to its left. Fine china plates are flanked by fancy silverware, and real cloth napkins are accordioned into silver rings.
As I twist the corkscrew into the top of the wine bottle, Hadley whisks into the room with a bowl of salad and a tray of steaming, crisp bread. The scent of garlic wafts up my nose, making my mouth water. She sets the food down and flits from the room without a word. A second later, as I’m pouring her a glass of the wine, she swoops back in with a casserole dish and sets it on a couple of thick potholders.
“Dinner is served,” she says lightly, and I hand her the half-filled wine glass.
“It smells divine,” I reply, setting the wine bottle back on the table and lifting my glass toward hers.
She clinks it to mine, and I cock my head and narrow my eyes.
“What?” she asks, as I take a drink and set my glass down.
I move in behind her to hold her chair as she sits, asking, “How does it go? To life’s pleasures?”
“Oh, we’re not doing that toast,” she says with a laugh, then thanks me for my assistance.
“Why not?” I ask with a grin as I slide into my own chair.
“Other than the fact that it ends with having sex with boys?” she asks with an arched brow, and to her credit, she doesn’t even blush. “That’s a tradition for me and the girls. It’s sacred.”
She gives me an impish grin, and I smile back at her while I pick my glass back up. “Well, that just means we need to come up with our own toast.”
She reaches for her glass, her face scrunched up as if she’s thinking really hard. “To world peace?”
I shake my head. “To football, first downs, and fast legs.”
A laugh bursts out of her. “That might be a good one for you and the boys, but it’s a terrible toast for us.”
“It’s better than world peace,” I say with a shrug.
“Football is better than world peace?” she shoots back. “Wow.”
“You know what I meant,” I say with a chuckle.
She laughs and sets her glass aside and reaches for the metal spatula tucked into the side of the lasagna dish. “Well, you come up with something good while I serve us.”
“I can do that,” I say quickly, setting my own glass down.
“I’ve got it,” she says, swatting my hand away as I try to take the spatula from her. “You need to focus. This toast has to be perfect.”
I watch as she cuts squares of the lasagna and artfully places one on each of our plates. Using tongs, she dishes up piles of salad next to the lasagna then adds a piece of garlic bread for each of us. The whole scene is quite domestic, something I’m not used to. Or ever experienced.
She pulls her napkin free of the ring and places it her lap, then picks up her glass before giving me a pointed look.
“Okay, it’s time. Hit me with something great.”
I was so entranced with watching her, I didn’t give it any thought at all, so I blurt the first thing that pops into my head.
“To good wine, great food, and beautiful company.”
Hadley’s cheeks bloom with color, and she’s obviously straining to keep a smile off her face as she nods. “It’ll do.”
She loses the fight as she clinks her glass against mine and takes a sip, her lips curving up over the rim. I hold the eye contact as I take my own sip, the cool wine trickling down my throat as warmth fills my chest. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or Hadley’s smiling gray eyes causing that heat. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure it’s both.
We dig in, and the food is even more delicious than it smells. I compliment her profusely in between bites, keeping that pretty pink color in her cheeks throughout the entire meal.
We talk. We laugh. We eat and drink.
I feel more relaxed and comfortable than I have in God knows how long.
By the time we’re done, I’m stuffed and feeling a bit tipsy from the wine. The conversation falls into an easy silence, and Hadley and I stare at each other for several moments before she stands and starts mumbling something about cleaning up.
I push myself up and pick up my own plate, tossing my napkin onto it. She tries to argue, insisting she can take care of everything, but I pointedly ignore her assurances and take my plate, and hers, into the kitchen. I rinse the dishes and load them into the washer while she packs away the leftovers. We finish the cleanup quickly and efficiently, then we’re left standing in the kitchen staring at each other, neither of us speaking so as not to break the spell that’s fallen over us.
God, I don’t want this night to end. I want to keep talking. Keep laughing.
And what I really want to do is kiss those lips to see if they’re as soft as they look.
I stiffen as the thought occurs to me. I need to keep it together. I don’t want to ruin this whole night by doing something impulsive and stupid…like kissing a woman I’ll never be able to commit to the way she deserves.
So, I step toward her and give her a hug. She relaxes into the embrace, and I can’t resist turning my head to press a light kiss to her cheek. She inhales sharply, but before she can react otherwise, I release her and take a step back.
“Thank you for dinner. It was amazing,” I say in low tones.
“You’re welcome,” she murmurs back, and I give her a nod before leaving the kitchen and heading back up to my room.
Alone.
As it should be.