Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
brUCE
Farrah Remington is asleep in my guestroom. My team captain’s little sister. What if he was in town and stopped by? What if he somehow found out about this?
Remy has never been someone who scared me…until now.
It’s eight in the morning and I’m wide awake, sitting up in my California king bed. I haven’t heard a peep from Farrah, and I kept my door cracked all night in case she needed me. I want to go check on her and make sure she’s okay, but I can’t just waltz into the guestroom, and knocking might wake her up. So obviously, the only other option is sitting here torturing myself.
I force myself out of bed, throw on some athletic shorts, a white sleeveless tank, and my moccasin slippers, then pad down the steps and into my kitchen.
Glancing in the fridge, I’m unsurprised to find nothing in there but my pre-prepared macro nutrient meals. I don’t even have eggs.
I grab my phone and pull up the DoorDash app. Scrolling through the options, I select two everything breakfasts from a local diner called Pancake Palace and pay the extra fee to get it here as fast as possible…just in case Farrah wakes up soon. The guys and I agreed to eat as clean as possible once round one is over. I’m going to take full advantage of the next few days, in that case.
When the DoorDasher arrives, I meet them in the lobby and when I come back up on the elevator, Farrah is sitting on the sofa looking apprehensive.
I smile, hoping to make her feel comfortable, and lift the bag of food. “Breakfast?”
She stands on wobbly legs, probably still sore from her uterus abruption…or whatever she called it. Poor girl. It was awful to see her in pain like that. I’ve never felt so helpless and miserable in my life. I’m sure my own misery was nothing compared to hers though. As she straightens and begins to walk toward me, I intake a sharp breath. She’s wearing the navy Eagle’s tee with the number thirty-nine on each shoulder, and baggy grey sweats that I laid out for her last night. My Eagle’s tee and sweats.
Seeing her in my things has an intoxicating, primal effect on me…something I’ve only imagined before this moment. All I understand is that I never want her to wear Remy’s number again. I don’t care if that’s her brother. My number belongs on this woman, or no one’s number.
These clothes are way too big for her, and yet, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I close my eyes briefly to calm myself. I can’t go all caveman on her—not until she wants me to.
First, we have to establish trust. Which I’m sure is hard after everything with her ex-husband. But as a goal tender, I’m nothing if not patient…I can wait for my moment. And I’ll do the work it takes to show her I’m nothing like that bozo.
I hope that helping her last night was a step in that direction, but either way, I would’ve come to her rescue.
“Thank you,” she says as she stops right in front of me. “For coming last night, and for letting me stay,” she tugs at the shirt, blushing. “And for the clean clothes…and breakfast?—”
My hand comes up as I gently press my index finger against her soft, luscious lips so she’ll stop thanking me. The same lips I remember kissing like it was yesterday. Lips I’m aching to kiss again.
“You don’t have to thank me. I promised you I’d be someone who was always there for you. And I don’t break my promises.”
Her dark blue eyes meet mine. The blue of her eyes is deep and dark, like the ocean. And just like the sea, she’s full of mystery and promise that I want to discover. But there’s always a risk when you dive into the deep, blue sea. The risk of finding things you might not like…the risk of meeting predators, of drowning…but there’s also a chance to find something amazing you’ve never discovered before. And I’m betting on the latter. And even if I find the other things too, I can handle them. I’m willing to handle them. For her.
She swallows, but her eyes don’t leave me. “I think I’m going to have to get used to that.” Her gaze grows deeper, like she’s searching for something in mine. “To people who keep their promises.”
I nod. “I’ve always been told I’m a patient man.”
Her blush deepens, but she doesn’t look away. Neither of us say anything for a long moment. I don’t want to ruin this ephemeral dance we’re doing, and I don’t believe she does either. But my stomach goes and ruins it, growling loudly. I grimace, and she covers her mouth so I can’t see her laughing.
“Sorry. I usually eat my pre-prepped meal at seven.”
She lets a laugh break free, and I soak up the sound of it. “Let’s eat then. I can’t be responsible for your lack of stamina during Tuesday’s game.”
Just this once, I let the innuendo go. Because right now Farrah Remington likes me, and I’m not about to mess that up.
Farrah’s phone begins to vibrate from the couch where she left it, and she moves across the room to grab it. “Hey, Mom,” she answers. I hear her mother’s voice from where I stand, she sounds worried and frantic, talking fast. “Mom, I’m fine.” She eyes me, then lowers her voice. “Mel took me to the ER; then I slept at their place. No biggie. I feel fine now.”
I’m unsure how to feel about Farrah’s unwillingness to tell her mother that I’m the one who helped and that she stayed in my guest room last night. But it’s also kind of hot to be her dirty little secret…even though nothing dirty happened. I understand why she’s keeping it to herself…maybe she doesn’t know how much her mom adores me. I’ve always been her favorite on the team—besides her son.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” Farrah hedges, glancing at me and widening her eyes.
I look down at my wristwatch. “I can take you back to your car after breakfast,” I whisper.
Farrah nods. “I’ll be home after breakfast; don’t worry about me.” She rolls her eyes, annoyed by something her mom said. “That was West talking.”
I withhold a snort.
“I can drive; I’m feeling much better now. Just a little sore.”
Farrah blows out an exasperated breath. “Okay, Mom. See you later. I love you, too.”
She ends the call and throws her phone on the sofa. “Wow, it’s like I’m seventeen all over again.”
I laugh and walk the bag of food over to the coffee table, arranging our Styrofoam containers. Farrah sits beside me and opens her takeout box with a smile. “This looks amazing, thank you.” She digs right into her pancakes.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked pancakes,” I muse. “They’re simple compared to your baking.”
She closes her eyes as she chews, obviously loving the food. She swallows and looks over at me, her dark hair falling over her shoulder in the process. “I’ve never met a sugary carbohydrate I didn’t like.”
I chuckle. “Same. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she says, dabbing her face with a napkin. “I have PCOS…polycystic ovarian syndrome.” She wrinkles her nose. “It sounds scary, but it’s common, unfortunately. I knew it was possible for a cyst to rupture; I just had no idea it would be so awful.”
“Being a woman sounds really hard,” I admit. I’d never really considered it before, how much women carry, how much our existence is dependent upon them and their health.
Farrah laughs, it’s husky and unrestrained, filling my expansive penthouse like a symphony. The best music I’ve ever heard.
“It really is, you’re right.” She piles another big bite of pancakes on her fork then nods her head toward my big flat screen TV on the wall in front of the couch. “So, what romcom are we going to watch while we eat?”
I smirk, hoping that means she’s staying long enough to watch a movie. “It’s not a game day.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Are you really such a rule follower? Didn’t take you for a stick in the mud, McBride.”
I gape at her. “How dare you. I’m the life of the party.”
“Then let’s watch Footloose.”
I nod and grab the remote, finding the movie quickly and starting it up. I’m immersed instantly in the music and Kevin Bacon’s dance moves.
Farrah and I eat together, sitting closely beside each other on the couch. It feels a lot like a date. I wish it was a date.
Once we finish eating, the movie comes to a locker room scene where the guys are walking around, and their naked butts are visible. I slowly turn my head toward Farrah. “Wow. Now I see why you wanted to watch this movie so badly.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. All man butts look the same. I’m here for Kevin Bacon’s dancing.”
“All man butts do not look the same. Some of us are well-honed athletes, Yeux bleus.”
Her eyes quickly move down my body, and she turns away just as fast, her face growing red again like it did this morning.
Well, well, well. I’m pretty sure Farrah Remington just silently agreed that my butt is, indeed, better than just any man butt.