Chapter 12
JAMESON
Apartment clean? Check.
Showered? Check.
Take-out bags tossed and dinner warming in the oven? Check and check.
I’m a twenty-three-year-old man. I don’t cook. So, a little white lie, but with good taste, won’t hurt me.
As my phone rings, and I check the time, I hope it's not Penelope cancelling on me. But when I see Mark's name dancing across my screen, I’m relieved. I check the time again because once this guy gets going, I may not be able to get him off the phone. And I’m not ready to tell him anything yet.
“Hey, Mark!”
“QB1! How ya doing?”
Smiling at his voice. “I’m good. You?”
He’s laughing, and I know he’s up to something. “I’m good. Great, actually. I’m here with your grouchy old dad and his radiant girlfriend.”
I can hear my dad cursing him out in the background.
“Why are you torturing my dad?”
“Oh, it’s not me torturing him. Ya see, he’s been waiting for three days to hear from you. Three. Whole. Days. Jame!”
“From me? Why?”
“Oh, this playboy, he’s acting shy.” I hear him pull away from the phone, but enough for me to still hear every word. “You raised a good one, Dash. Humble as fuck, this one. Good-looking, young, and with fame to boot.” He chuckles. “And secrets. Lots and lots of secrets.”
At that, my phone rings with FaceTime. “Why are you FaceTiming me now? What is going on?”
I’m leery of answering this call. It’s my dad now calling on FaceTime, and when I accept it, Mark and Jackson appear. Their pictures fill the screen like a miniature version of the Brady Bunch.
And I know exactly what this is about.
“You saw the article, didn’t you?”
“Of course, we saw the article! And it took us three days of holding your dad back before we made the call. Honestly, Jameson. The secrets are too much.” He’s shaking his head. I roll my eyes at them all.
“Jameson. Who is this woman? The press has no idea who she is. Francesca tried doing a reverse lookup and found her on a dating site.”
Fuck.
“If I tell you a little, will you leave me alone? She’s on her way over and—”
“Oh! She’s coming there! Quick! Prop up the phone so we can greet her when she walks in.”
“Yeah, that’s a hard no.”
I hear Summer in the background. “What’s going on? Who are you talking to?”
“Summer! Help! The interrogation is real.”
They all lean into the phone and shush me, and I think it’s hysterical. These men all want to act tough, in charge, and grumpy as heck, but their women run the show.
“Chickens, all of you. Don’t call me. I’ll call you,” and with that, I end the call with a big smile on my face.
I love them and miss them dearly. And it’s going to be fun to fuck with them. But I have a feeling they’re going to end up liking Penelope just as much as I do.
But Francesca finding her on a dating site has me worried.
My doorman buzzed me to let me know Penelope had arrived, so I went to the door and waited for her to step out of the elevator.
The moment she did, she took my breath away.
She was stunning in jeans and a black tank.
Her smile grew as she approached and saw me appreciating just how well her body looked.
Flip, flop, flip, flop.
Furrowing my brows, I look at her feet to see a pair of sandals and laugh.
“Do not laugh at my shoes.” I chuckle and walk closer to meet her, her arms full with two grocery bags.
“I’m not laughing at the shoes, just the safety of them! What’s with the bags? I cooked for us.” I reach for them just as the toe of her sandal hits the floor and sends her catapulting forward. She lands against my chest, my hands wrapped around her biceps.
“You’re dangerous, Pip.”
Her face blushes, and she rights herself. But I can’t let her go. I squeeze her arms, then run my hands down her soft skin. She smells so good. She pushes her glasses back on her nose and huffs, “Dangerous, my ass. The floors are slippery.”
I agree with her ass being dangerous, for sure. When I’m silent for a moment too long, I meet her eyes, and she has a brow raised. “Truth, please.”
I drop my head and laugh. I’m caught. “I was just thinking that I agree with you.”
“Mmhmm. Sure.”
I take both bags. “Come on inside. I’ve got food warmed for us.”
We enter my apartment, and I head to the counter to place the bags down. I notice she isn’t behind me. Instead, she’s still standing in the doorway, eyes darting all over. “What’s wrong?”
“So, this is how a big-time quarterback lives?” Her lips twitch, and I prepare myself for the sarcasm that’s about to roll. I fold my arms and lean against the counter. “I thought it’d be… bigger.”
“Ha!” I bark a laugh, and she dissolves into giggles.
I walk over to her, pushing the door shut and reaching for her hand with mine, pulling her into me.
I wrap my arms around her back, and she does the same.
It’s like we were always meant to be. We just fit together so easily.
I don’t have to think or question anything I do. She’s just fun and normal.
Natural.
We sway for a moment.
“How was your day? Did you have to play football today?” I grin. Everything she says makes me smile, and she pokes my ribs. “Don’t make fun of me!”
“I’m not!” I chortle out. I unlatch my arm from her back, brushing the hair from her shoulder.
I track the pulse in her neck, speeding up, and brush my fingertip over it.
She shivers, and goosebumps break out. “Yes, I had practice today. But just to watch game tapes.” I meet her eyes, then drop them to those full lips of hers.
I absentmindedly trace her bottom lip. “We have an away game on Sunday, so today was an easy day before we leave tomorrow.” Her tongue darts out just as I pull my finger back, and the touch rockets straight to my cock.
I pull my hips back and begin thinking of my sweaty teammates, plays, and anything I can to calm myself down.
“You’re leaving?” Her voice brings me back and cools me instantly.
“It’s just two days. We fly out tomorrow morning, and I’ll be home Sunday night.”
Her eyes drop, and she pulls away. “That’s fun. Where are you going?” I watch as she walks to the counter and begins unpacking the bags she brought. Pulling out a bottle of wine and then some desserts.
“New York. We have the early game on Sunday. So I should be home by nine at night, give or take a little.” I pause, and she looks up from unpacking. “You going to miss me?” I give a wink, and she smiles, her body instantly relaxing.
“Don’t get all hotshot quarterbacker on me. I’m sure my girls will force me to watch the game at RedZone.”
Laughing. “Quarterbacker?” Shaking my head, I take the wine and place it in the fridge, pulling out an already chilled one. Nodding to the table I set an hour ago, I tell her, “Go sit. I’ll pour.
“Do you like to travel? Sounds like you don’t get to stay long.”
“I don’t mind the flights, but no, we don’t stay long. We fly in for the game and fly back home. There’s no time for anything during the season, honestly. We play, practice, and repeat. All hoping it comes together for the big game.”
“I take it that’s the Super Bowl?”
Handing her a glass, I cheers her, and we clink them together. “I’m impressed with your lingo, Ms. Presley. And here I thought I was going to have to teach you the basics.”
I watch as she sips from the glass, licking her lips, chasing the last bit of the fruity wine. There’s something so natural about her that draws me in. She isn’t fake. She isn’t putting on a facade. She’s just her.
And I like it.
Too much.