Chapter 21
ROUGHING THE KICKER: WHEN A PLAYER RUNS INTO A KICKER IN A WAY THAT COULD INJURE THEM.
Ialmost choke on the coffee I just ingested. “What would I do if you weren’t here?” I panic at the concept of Maya’s question. “Why? Are you leaving?”
Please say no.
She rolls her eyes. “Not hardly. I just don’t want to keep you from the things you’re supposed to be doing by entertaining me.”
“Oh.” Sweet relief floods through my veins. I admit, “I’d probably have the game on while catching up on bookkeeping.”
“Game?” Her brow furrows in confusion.
I almost hate to remind her, but, “It’s Sunday.”
“Oh! That game. You can watch the NFL from here?”
I lean closer and cup a hand over my mouth. She surges forward, eager to hear my secret. “There’s this thing called YouTube NFL Sunday Ticket. I can watch all the games here.”
“What time do the games start?”
“Wait. You’d watch them with me?” I’m flabbergasted.
“I grew up in Oklahoma. I didn’t just start liking football because I was…involved…with a player.” She shrugs. “He’s not even the best part about the game.”
“Then what is?”
“The snacks,” she replies instantly. “Now, what time does the first game start?”
I glance down at my wrist. “About 4 our time.”
“That gives each of us plenty of time.”
“To do, what?”
“You, to run this vineyard.”
“Boring,” I draw out the word.
She snickers. “I can check some emails, call home, things like that. Then let’s watch the game.”
Since I like this idea, I readily agree. I suggest, “There’s an enormous flatscreen in my private quarters.”
“Any problems with my company?”
I lift her hand to my lips before admitting, “I’ll be counting down the hours.”
Maya shouts, “That’s totally roughing the kicker! What the hell?” Whirling on me, she demands, “Did they bribe the refs? The Colonial’s coach should be doing more than just challenging the play.”
As I’m about to stuff another freshly made cheese stuffed cherry bomb pepper in my mouth, it tumbles harmlessly out of my hand and onto my plate. I grin at Maya’s outrage. “You tell them, uvetta mia.”
We’re sprawled on my couch with a buffet spread on the coffee table before us.
The TV volume is high enough that I’m certain the harvesters can hear the game a kilometer away.
Maya’s hair is standing on end with her having jammed her hands into it over and over.
Her cheeks are flushed like she’s been the one running up and down the field.
She’s invested not a single iota in either team that’s playing, but she’s half a heartbeat from picking up a carrot and flinging it at the screen.
Maya hoots and hollers before she jumps up and shakes her hips in a little shimmy. “They actually called it? Hallelujah!”
I grin at her enthusiasm. “You do realize I’m nowhere as worked up as you are.”
Her eyes whip away from the screen to glare. “You should be.”
I have to laugh because this is a whole facet of Maya I didn’t know existed. I give up and admit to myself what I should have realized much sooner. I’m falling in love with my ex-teammate’s ex-fiancée.
I may have been falling since the first moment we met.
I try to pay attention to the game, but all I can focus on is her and wonder if I am more than just a vacation distraction to her or if I’m looking to take a tackle harder than the one I did when I lost my whole sense of self the first time I came to Italy to recover.
We’re grabbing more snacks in between games. Maya’s chattering about how the Colonial’s managed to eke out a win despite the, “…sheer bias of the refs. I mean, come on, Troy. You obviously saw it.”
“I wasn’t paying that much attention.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
She pauses chopping up some leafy greens for a salad and gives me a confused look.
I saunter her way and pluck the knife out of her hands. My eyes roam her face for a moment before I lean down and brush a kiss on the corner of her lip.
Her lips part as she sucks in a breath.
I do the same to the other side and try to avoid diving in when the tip of her tongue darts out and moistens her lower lip. Her breath hitches as her eyes drift to half-mast.
I slide one hand into her curls, giving her every opportunity to say no. To tell me she doesn’t want my mouth on hers. The other grips the counter with such force, I’m certain my knuckles are bloodless. I murmur, “Ask me to kiss you, uvetta mia.”
Her face lifts to mine, just like a tiny grape would lift towards the sun. Her breathless, “Please,” is so soft, I might not have heard it if I hadn’t been desperate for it. Still, the second I do, my lips lower to hers.
I release the counter and lift her against me, molding her body against mine. Tugging her head back farther, I take us deeper. It’s incredible, one sip of her has me more intoxicated than bottles of the wines my family is famous for around the globe.
Her arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. Not acquiescing, but agreeing.
I’m not certain how long we spend lost in each other’s arms. I couldn’t care less about what else is going on around us.
Grapes could be at this very moment being tortured by being inappropriately crushed or suffering severe wrath and I could care less.
That is, until an obnoxious sound interrupts our bubble.
It’s a persistent notification of Maya’s phone going off.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
I tear my lips from hers, huskily asking, “Do you need to get that?”
“I can’t imagine who…” Yanking her phone from her pocket, it takes less than a second before her eyes narrow to flinty slits.
She glares at it, offended, as if she’s contemplating dropping the device directly into the bowl of dirty water she rinsed the lettuce in just a few moments ago.
“No. It’s just my email going crazy. Let’s get back to what we were doing. ”
Easily convinced, I hook an arm around her waist. “That can be arranged.” But just as I’m about to lower my lips back to hers, it starts up again.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Again, the noise ceases temporarily. Silence descends again. I’m about to ask if some picture of hers was recently published when Maya drives her fingers into her hair in frustration. “Why won’t he just leave me alone?”
A sick feeling hits me. I suspect I already know the answer, but I ask anyway, “Who?”
She inhales through her nose before she grinds her teeth and forces out, “Bryce.”
Well, crap. “What does he want?”
Her eyes clash with mine before she reveals, “Apparently…me.”