Chapter 21 – RHETT
RHETT
Ishould have been on cloud nine. I’d just won my first game as an NFL head coach.
And I was happy. But it was dulled. Even a bit overshadowed.
I didn’t text or call Russel. I gave the guys a locker room speech and congratulations on our first win, while reminding them that it’s a long season and we have a long way to go. I did the postgame conference and left.
Then I texted Quinn.
You’d think I would have slept like shit, but I didn’t.
I came home, jerked off to Quinn’s beautiful tits and gorgeous face, and fell into a heavy sleep.
I don’t know her schedule, and I try not to track it, but I also try to time my runs so that I’m no more than a quarter mile behind her when I do catch her.
I don’t engage. I don’t let her know I’m there, and she never looks.
But I like running with her. I like watching her and wondering what she’s listening to and making sure she’s safe. It starts my day off in the best possible way.
Like today.
I leave my house at six thirty on the dot, and she’s already down the street, her red hair swinging behind her like a beacon for me to follow. Stalker or not, I don’t care. I’d never hurt her, so this isn’t about that.
It’s a gloomy sort of day, the air cool and crisp as we run along Memorial Drive.
I have a hat on, and I’m keeping it low across my brow so I’m not recognized.
Wind whips up off the river from my left, and cars whiz past on my right.
Down by MIT, she takes a right and jogs across the street, getting lost in the buildings.
I know her route—my girl is such a creature of habit—and I take the same path only to practically smash into her once I reach Main Street.
She’s standing on the corner waiting for me, her arms folded and her eyebrow raised. Busted.
A smile lights up my face. “Hi,” I pant out, wiping the sweat dripping down my cheeks with the hem of my shirt. “Fancy running into you here.”
Her stern facade cracks, and she lets out a light laugh. “Yeah. Funny. And don’t show me your abs. That won’t soften me to your stalking.”
I chuckle. “That’s because there’s nothing soft about my abs. Wanna feel?”
She snorts and smacks my shoulder. “No. Stop. No touching.”
“Only looking. Got it.”
“Oh my god. No flirting.”
I roll my eyes at her. “You and all your rules. No touching, no stalking, no flirting. What can I do?”
She shrugs. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“How about we run together, and I buy you breakfast?”
“I thought we weren’t doing that. I thought we were all about the distance and ignoring each other.”
“If you can be friends with Russel, you can be friends with me.”
“I never agreed to be his friend. Not really anyway. And I think I’d like to be your friend even less.”
“That’s because you like me more. I get it. And I’m a great kisser.”
Her lips bounce. “I never said you were a great kisser.”
I nudge her with my elbow. “But you didn’t disagree that you like me more.”
“I like MRSA more than him.”
“MRSA?”
“Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus.”
“Sexy. Thanks for that.”
She smirks. “Anytime. So why are you following me?”
I shrug. “I do it all the time so it’s not as though this morning is all that different. You just happened to catch me.”
She sighs. “I try not to look back.”
The way she says that makes it feel as though she’s talking about more than simply while she’s running.
It makes me not want to be her past. Not a guy she looks back on, but a guy she still thinks about and talks to.
I don’t want a shot at a second chance because I don’t want to let go of our first try.
“Can I buy you breakfast, Dr. Reyes?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Coach. Someone will recognize you, and we’ll be photographed.”
I step into her, crowding her. My hand goes to her waist, and I squeeze it in my hand, holding her firmly. “Is that the only reason why?”
“What are you doing?” she breathes, her incredulous green eyes bouncing back and forth between mine. “Last night you were all I’m not going to knock on your door and I just want one look and this morning you’re flipping all that upside down.”
I twist my hat around on my head and put my forehead to hers. We’re out on the street, and she’s right, someone could recognize either of us, and that’ll be that. But it’s so hard to care about any of that when I have her like this.
“You’re dressed and not in your bed.”
“That’s the difference?”
“No. The difference is the truth.”
She blinks at me. “And what’s that?”
I run a finger down her cheek to her chin. “I want a date with you. One where we don’t have the complications we can’t escape. One where I get to look at you while you talk and flirt with you better than I did that first night.”
“That night ended with me in your hotel room, so obviously you did something right.”
“I’m not judging you for sleeping with me on the first date.”
She shakes her head, but she’s unable to stop her smile before it slips just as quickly. “What happens after this date?”
Good question. One I don’t have the answer to because I’m positive I’ll want another and another.
“Just breakfast. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
“I have to be at the hospital before ten.”
I check my watch. “It’s a little after seven. I can hold to that.”
“Fine. Breakfast.”
I take her hand and twist us so we’re heading down Main Street into Kendall Square.
“Nope.” She slips her hand from mine. “Too public. We’re going to run back separately. I’m going to shower, and after that I’ll come to your place.”
My heart beats faster. “Then move your hot ass.” I give it a smack, and she yelps but gets running anyway.
I count to a hundred and start after her.
She reaches her door and goes inside without so much as a glance in my direction.
There’s a strong chance I’ll get a text telling me she reconsidered, but for now, I fly up into my house and race up the steps for my shower.
I’m sweating like crazy, but I have no time to cool down first.
I strip out of my clothes and get right in the shower while I mentally catalog what I have in the house that I can make for us to eat.
It isn’t much, and I may have to get creative.
But still, I’m smiling like a kid. Like a stupid bastard who knows he’s playing with fire but doesn’t give a shit because consequences don’t exist behind closed doors.
It’s one date. That’s all it’ll be.
Toweling off, I grab a pair of pants, a Rebels T-shirt, and a three-quarter zip pullover because while we don’t have physical practice today, we have meetings, game film, and next game strategy conversations starting at eleven.
I also have no doubt the bullshit between Quinn and Russel will come up and need to be addressed.
I drag my hands through my hair, toss on my glasses instead of dealing with contacts, and decide it’s good enough.
My bare feet pad down the stairs, and I go into the kitchen, searching around as if I’ve never been in this room before and have no clue what to do with it.
Nerves strike me. The giddy kind, but I push them away as I open the fridge.
Eggs, cheddar, spinach. Perfect. I’ll make omelets. I think I may even have some bread in the freezer that I can toast up with it. It’s not great, but it’s better than nothing.
Coffee is brewing, and I get going on the eggs when there’s a knock at the door. My heart takes flight. She didn’t cancel.
“It’s open,” I call out, and a second later, I hear the door open and shut behind her. “I’m in the kitchen.”
“Some date,” she quips. “You don’t even open the door for me.”
I chuckle lightly. “I would have burned our eggs.” I turn my head over my shoulder to her and nearly swallow my tongue. She’s in blue scrubs, but her hair is wet and down, and she’s even wearing a light smattering of makeup. I haven’t seen her in scrubs yet, and it’s a fantastic look on her.
“Damn.”
She glances down and laughs. “This is hardly my date look but thanks.”
“It works for you.”
“Can I help?”
“You can sit your adorable ass down, and I’ll make you coffee. Cream, no sugar, right?”
“You remember.”
She sounds surprised, but I pretty much remember everything we texted about.
“I remember.” I stir the eggs around in the pan before I make her a cup.
“You know, I never got a chance to really talk to you about your work. Do you like what you do? I know you’re ambitious and enjoy being the best at it, but do you like it?
Or did you pick your specialty because of your mother? ”
“I love what I do. The hours are long, and the stress is real, and frankly, I find hanging around a football field boring, but other than that, I love it.”
I smile. “Nothing boring about football, baby girl.”
“If you say so. What about you? Do you prefer playing or coaching?”
I plate up our eggs and toast and set everything down on the counter for us.
Then I take the seat beside her because we’re eating in here instead of in my dining room, which is a place I doubt I’ll ever use as long as I live here.
I wish I could sit across from her, but we’re doing this so I can’t complain.
“I loved playing ball. If I never earned a dime doing it, I still would have. My regret is that I never won a championship, but I was also lucky in that I was able to stay on the same team my entire career, and that kept me closer to Russel. Coaching is great too. I love working with the players, especially the young ones. I love helping them develop and become men on the field.”
“And your charity? You work with kids there too.”
“Like I said, it’s the best.”
She coughs out a laugh. “So old, Coach.”
“So young, Doctor.”
She scoops up a bite of eggs and hums around them, nodding and pointing at her plate with her fork. “These are good.”
“I told you I knew how to cook.”
We fall quiet for a minute because isn’t that what I said to her?
That I didn’t expect her to tend to me because I’m a grown man who can do it for myself.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been single as long as I have been and subsequently always took care of myself.
Or maybe it’s because I don’t have the expectation of a wife at home raising children while I’m off at work.
I don’t know. There’s nothing wrong with that if that’s what both parties choose, but I’d never demand that of my wife unless it was what she wanted.
Russel certainly had that expectation for her, though, and didn’t like how many hours she was working and away from home.
I clear my throat. “So when you’re done with football, what then?”
We morph into an easier conversation, and it flows effortlessly.
We have more coffee and linger over our empty plates.
At some point we shifted until our stools were facing each other, our bodies leaned in, and we were inches apart.
I make her shake with laughter and I’m not sure a minute goes by that we’re not both smiling.
She’s so easy to talk to. To be with.
And looking at her is easily my favorite thing in the world to do. She’s so goddamn smart and has me hanging on her every word.
All too soon, she gets up and heads for the door, needing to get to work, and I follow her, not wanting her to go, wanting just one last second before this bubble bursts and I’m thrust back to reality.
I haven’t kissed her in a long time. The last time I was near her like this, I was in her kitchen, but I didn’t kiss her mouth. Right now, I’m struggling to think about anything else.
“Thanks for breakfast, Coach.”
“It’s Rhett. Don’t call me Coach. At least not when we’re like this.”
Her eyes meet mine, and she nods. “Fine. Rhett. Thanks for breakfast. It was good.”
“I can’t say anytime to you, can I?”
She nibbles on her thumbnail. “No.”
I swoop my hand around her waist and haul her against me. My head dips, but I hold myself back. “One date wasn’t enough.”
Her hands land on my biceps. “It has to be. We can’t do this again.”
I hate that. I hate it for both of us. Looking at her, it’s impossible to remember why she’s so forbidden to me. That is, until my phone rings in the kitchen with Russel’s ringtone.
I stiffen and force my feet back a step. My eyes close, my features wrought with longing and guilt. “Have a good shift, Quinn.”
Without another word, she leaves my house, and all the warmth and light and air go with her, rendering me in a suffocating cold darkness I see no freedom from.