Romancing the Running Back Read online

  “More than friendly. It’s like a family. You get that way after a while. After watching Trey and my father deal with the circus that is an NFL season, I realize there are very few people who can relate to this bizarre lifestyle we live. Added to that, most of these guys didn’t grow up around here. Their extended families don’t live nearby. And if they’re single, there’s no wife or significant other. It can be lonely.” Cassie shrugged and kept mixing the oversized bowl of meat. “You keep family close.”

  Family was a huge deal to Cass, since she’d grown up without her father in the picture. Though her mother was great, Cassie had missed the opportunity to bond with her father and his family. As it had turned out, her father was the head coach of the Santa Fe Bobcats, which led her from Georgia to Santa Fe, and landed her right in Trey’s path.

  Now that she’d met Coach Jordan and his two teenage daughters—her half sisters—she was in heaven.

  “Sounds nice.”

  Cassie let the running water fill the silence for a moment, then asked, “Has anyone been bothering you recently?”

  “Anyone?” Anya asked dryly. “Just any random person? No, no random drive-by botherings in my neighborhood.”

  “Fine.” Cassie huffed and glared at her. “You’re going to make me say it. Any news from Asshole? Like, maybe, his dick fell off from an incurable disease?”

  “You can’t call him “Asshole.” He doesn’t even rate a nickname. His name is Chad, and it is a four-letter word for a reason.” All ex-husbands rated a four-letter nickname. Or, well, soon-to-be ex-husbands . . .

  Cassie snorted. “But has he been calling you again? Causing trouble? Showing up at work like he used to?”

  “No, nothing new, recently.” Coming to Santa Fe for dress shopping and wedding prep was a real deal, but the timing couldn’t have been more perfect than if she’d planned it. Escape was the name of the game. It galled her to admit she was all but on the run from her ex, but there it was.

  “Maybe you . . . hey, Josiah.” Cassie beamed at him as he walked in and paused to give her a peck on the cheek. He wore an outfit almost identical to the one from a few days ago. Just a different T-shirt, still worn but clean. Same ball cap, same jeans and shoes. He set his helmet down on the bench that led to the garage.

  Anya simply grabbed the first head of lettuce and began to rinse it off.

  “Ready to head out to Cali?” Cassie asked.

  “Ready and willing, as usual,” he answered.

  Anya felt eyes staring at her, but she refused to turn around. Childish, maybe, but hey, the lettuce wasn’t going to wash itself.

  “You remember Anya, right? From the other day?”

  “Sure, yeah.”

  She kept rinsing, as if she hadn’t heard anything over the water. Then she felt him at her shoulder, and knew she could no longer ignore him. She didn’t have to look, though. “Hi.”

  “Hey. Stuck with kitchen duty, huh?”

  “I’m a disaster with the grill, and squishy meat freaks me out.” She gave him a small smile, while Cassie went back to mixing with her hands. “So I’m left with veggie prep. It’s more my speed.”

  “Cool.” He watched quietly as she put the first head down on paper towel to dry a bit and moved to wash the second one.

  Maybe she’d misjudged him. He didn’t seem so condescending now, or judgmental. It could have been her imagination. Travel brain. Or even a holdover from Chad’s douche-y ways.

  “You know, there’s a better way to rinse off the lettuce.”

  She blinked. “Huh?”

  “If you don’t properly rinse it, then you risk a lot of the pesticides still contaminating the food.”

  She stared at him, his solemn eyes, and realized he was totally serious. The man was criticizing her vegetable-washing methods. “You’re not serious.”

  “Josiah is always serious about pesticides,” Cassie sang out, then bumped Anya aside with her hip to wash her hands quickly in the sink. “I’m delivering the meat to the grill master. Hustle with the toppings, Anya!” She picked up the massive bowl and left them alone in the kitchen.

  “I was just saying there was a more efficient way,” he said tightly. “I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

  “Oh, well, in that case . . .” Anya rolled her eyes and pushed the water back up to full blast. The sound made it more difficult to hear anything. “I think Trey might need help flipping burgers.”

  He looked as if he might want to say something else, but then stepped back, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked off to the back patio.

  Chapter Two

  Was she too sensitive? Probably. Between Chad’s delightful way of deteriorating her self-confidence during their short time together, to the highs and lows of attempting to start her own company, and now Chad all but stalking her—and what a mindfuck that had been . . . “You’re worthless, you’re nothing, wait I want you, come back to me”—she’d taken a beating. It had to be natural to sharpen the claws a little, be on the defensive.

  But he was just so pompous. “There’s a more efficient way to wash lettuce,” she mocked under her breath as she shook the last head out and laid it on the paper towel. “You get it wet, then you dry it. Everything else is just technicalities. Who cares? What idiot can’t wash lettuce?” Picking up the knife and carving stone Cassie had laid out for her, she started to cut into the first tomato. “Apparently I’m the only idiot who can’t wash produce correctly. Trying to poison everyone with pesticides. You found me out! It’s my big secret!”

  “Uh, hi?”

  She gasped and whirled around, losing grip of the tomato she’d been slicing, watching in horror as it flew straight into the abdomen of a man who stood over a head taller than her. His dark face grimaced as the tomato splattered against his stomach, making a mess of his shirt.

  “Oh. My. God.” She looked up—and up—into his face. He had thick dreads that he’d pulled back into a half ponytail and expensive-looking shades perched over the top, giving her a full view of his sculpted face. His dark eyes, while shocked, also seemed to be laughing as he pulled the shirt away from his skin.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know . . . and then you shocked me . . . and then the tomato . . .”

  “Let’s just put this down,” he said, gently gripping the hand that held the knife and putting the utensil on the counter. “You were scarier with the knife than the tomato. So, is this how you planned to poison us with pesticides? By throwing fruit laced with it?”

  Her face burned, but she shook her head. “No, just ignore that. I was upset and talking to myself. Just . . . I can’t believe I did that.”

  They both watched as the largest portion of the tomato slid slowly down his button-down shirt, then plopped to the kitchen tile. He snickered, and she let out a choked laugh.

  “It’s not funny,” she said, biting back a giggle. “I ruined your shirt.”

  “If only I could afford another,” he said mournfully, which made her crack up again. “There we go. I hate to see a pretty girl so sad.”

  She covered her face with the non-juiced hand and sighed. “Let me ask Trey if you can borrow one of his shirts. I’ll try to wash it later.” She already knew that would be a lost cause. The shirt, if her guess was right, was designer. Expensive. And not going to simply wash out in the laundry.

  “I’d love a shirt, but anything Trey has would be too small.”

  No kidding. Trey was tall, but this man was broader in the shoulders. Lean, not overweight, but she’d guess he still carried at least twenty to thirty pounds more than Trey’s lean figure.

  “Don’t sweat washing it. This will work.” He started to unbutton the front, and her eyes widened. He was going to strip naked in the kitchen? But he had a crisp white undershirt on, contrasting sharply with his dark skin. As he removed the long sleeves, she caught sight of several bl
ack tattoos inked down his arm. Curiosity had her wanting to lean in and get a better look at them. Manners kept her from doing so. She’d already assaulted the man with a tomato. Grabbing his arm to look at his ink seemed too much.

  “Do I get to know the name of the pretty lady that flings tomatoes?”

  Her face flamed again, but she held out her hand like nothing had happened. “Anya. I’m Cassie’s friend from Georgia.”

  “Ah, of course.” He smiled, teeth shining brightly. Lord, he was something to look at. “Nice to meet you.” His huge hand engulfed hers, shaking softly. “Matthew Peterson.”

  Another Bobcat, obviously, given his size and the company he kept. But damned if she actually knew who he was based solely on his name. Offense? Defense? Specialty . . . something? Coach? She nodded, as if it were obvious. “Of course. Nice to meet you.”

  He finished removing the top shirt, and to her relief, the tomato had only soaked through a little to the undershirt. He would probably be fine with that alone for the remainder of the day. “Let me take that. I can at least soak it or something while you’re here.”

  He shrugged and tossed it in the large kitchen trash can. “Eh. It’s fine. Now . . .” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Let’s finish this up so you can get out there and join the party.”

  For the first time in a while, she smiled at a man and meant it. “Thanks. I’ll take whatever help I can get. Apparently, I’m hell with produce.”

  * * *

  Josiah watched as Anya flirted with Matt Peterson. Okay, maybe “flirt” was a bit of a stretch, but they had definitely hit it off. Matt was a good guy, though a little cocky, a little obvious with his need to show off his Super Bowl ring every five minutes.

  Jealous much, Josiah?

  Fine, he was a little jealous. The guy had a way that seemed to resonate with Anya, put her at ease. Everything he himself said just put her back up. He thought he’d been doing well, talking like a normal human, and then he’d criticized her lettuce. Very mature, very smooth.

  Not that he needed to be smooth. He didn’t want her, wasn’t attracted to her.

  She smiled at something Cassie said and took a platter of buns from her.

  Okay, so he was attracted to her, but just in that distant sort of way where you can admit things are pretty even if you don’t want to own them. Like an oak tree, or a dolphin.

  Matt bumped her shoulder when she took too long getting a hot dog, and she laughed and bumped him back. When she held out a hand, he put his large one in her petite grip, and she admired the bling.

  No, no, he wasn’t jealous about that. Just the ring. Or the fact that it came from a Bowl win.

  Damn, the woman had him all confused.

  “Matt,” Trey said, sliding a plate of burgers in front of him. “You’re not exactly matching top to bottom. What’s the story?”

  Matt looked down at his plain white undershirt, tight around the arms where his biceps flexed. Then down at his pressed slacks and dress shoes. “Oh, just trying a new look.”

  Anya snorted, and he elbowed her gently.

  Josiah squeezed the mustard bottle a little too hard, unleashing a river of yellow over his hot dog. Great. He didn’t even like the stuff.

  “I heard a joke the other day,” Matt went on, forking a burger patty over to his plate. “Being intelligent means that you know a tomato is a fruit. Being wise is not putting a tomato in a fruit salad.”

  Anya snickered, bit her lip, looked everywhere but toward Matt, then burst out laughing. Cassie chuckled, as did a few other guys. Trey raised a brow at his fiancée’s friend. Josiah just shrugged.

  “I don’t get it,” he said.

  “You know, because a tomato is a fruit,” Matt said helpfully. “Technically. But you wouldn’t put it in a fruit salad ’cause that’s nasty.”

  “Yeah, I get that . . . but it wasn’t that funny.” Josiah glanced toward Anya, who was still trying to muffle her laughter in the crook of her arm. “Something I missed?”

  “Inside joke, man,” Matt murmured. “Never mind.”

  Irrationally, Josiah wanted to take the mustard and shoot it at Matt’s smirk.

  Being intelligent meant he refrained from doing so. Being wise meant he knew he could just stick Icy Hot in the guy’s practice pants later that week in retribution.

  Not that he would . . . because he was an adult, damn it.

  “So, Cassie,” Anya said, pulling a little more salad onto her plate. At Cassie’s request, Trey had grilled a few chicken breasts, sliced them up and created a small chicken Caesar salad. “Are you doing any freelance web work now?”

  “Not really. Once I went full-time with the Nerd Herd, it was too much to tackle. Between getting to know the family and moving out here and then this guy taking up all my free time . . .” She rested her temple briefly on Trey’s shoulder, and he kissed the crown of her head.

  Anya sighed a little.

  One of the linemen made a gagging noise.

  Cassie threw a potato chip at him.

  Josiah concentrated on his plate.

  “Anyway, I’m just not up for it. Why?” Her gaze grew sharper on her friend. “What’s up?”

  “Can’t a girl ask a question?” Anya held up her hands in surrender. “Moving on . . . dress shopping on Tuesday. You asked off, right?”

  “Not a problem. With these guys leaving tomorrow, our load lightens a little.” Cassie motioned for the plate of meat to be passed back her way, then stabbed two hot dogs and dragged them to her plate. The lady ate, which Josiah loved. “You can drag me all over the state looking for a dress . . . but please don’t. I want to still be sane after this is all over.”

  “Sane, check. Don’t worry, I’ve been doing some research. We’ve got it covered. Actually, while I’m here . . .” Anya grinned slowly. “We should really make a big, master list of all that needs to be done. Including the guys’ responsibilities.”

  “I’m already done. Step One: Buy the ring.” Trey held up Cassie’s hand, which gave Matt’s ring a run for its money. “Step Two: Show up on the day. I promise to do that. And I’m out.”

  “Good try, bubba. You’ve got work to do. It might not be as extensive as your bride-to-be’s, but it exists. But hey, you’re a leader.” Anya waved airily. “Feel free to delegate responsibilities to your groomsmen as you see fit. Like Josiah here.” She grinned at him, and he had a feeling the gesture was meant to make his balls shrivel.

  Instead, he felt a full blast of heat. Hot damn, the woman was gorgeous when she smiled like that. A little devious, a lot mischievous, and full-on grab-your-balls in charge. How could a single woman irritate and confuse him, then make him want to swipe all the plates off the picnic table and feast on her instead all at once? No wonder he got tongue-tied and accidentally insulting around her.

  “Josiah would probably love to make a list of appropriate bartending companies and interview them for the most discreet, appropriate choice.”

  “I was with you until the interview part,” he said, pointing his fork at her. It still had some potato salad on it. Not very intimidating. “Meeting bartenders, sure. I’ll even do a taste testing. Interviewing . . . not so much.”

  “My groomsmen are already falling down on the job,” Trey said with a sigh. “Anya, this might require a more firm hand.”

  “On it.” Her grin turned a little sharp as she eyed Josiah.

  He might need to examine later why that look, that I can take you look, gave him a boner.

  * * *

  “I know you weren’t asking purely for conversation, so give me the truth.” Cassie perched on the guest bed later that night. “And I know you’re not just here for wedding shopping. Spill. What’s up?”

  “I . . .” Anya sat down at the desk and spread her nighttime routine items in front of her. Everything was easier when sh
e had her things nearby. “I might want to expand my side consultation business. I’m doing more of it, and the rates I charge for private consultations are way better than I am making at the store. I want to be in business for myself.”

  More control. More risk. But more reward.

  “And you want a website.”

  “Sort of. Not just a website, exactly. An experience. It’s going to be virtual. I want to be able to work with someone in Maine, or Oregon, or Florida. It needs to be more than just a website. Way beyond any basic, technical skills I have.”

  “All you had to do was ask.” Cassie flopped down on the bed. “My workload is lighter this week, so I’ll be leaving the office an hour earlier each day. Except for Tuesday, when we will be dress-shopping. Maybe when the guys leave tomorrow, we can sit down and go over parameters of what you’re looking for, and work on it this week. Before you leave, we can have that all nailed down.”

  Yeah. Leave . . . Anya glanced around the guest room. How long could she stay here and be considered a guest? “Sounds great.” There was more to it than just the business, but Cassie already knew about her desire to kick up her side gig to full-time. The rest . . . the rest would have to wait. She wasn’t quite ready to take that to the next level. Fashion she totally understood, and thrived in. Nonprofit business launches were another story entirely. It was too important for her to mention yet. Too new. Too . . . much. She wanted to keep her real dream close to the vest for right now.

  “You and Matt looked pretty chummy,” Cassie said, smoothing a hand down the comforter. Her friend wouldn’t make eye contact. A dead giveaway something was up. “He’s a pretty okay guy.”

  That made Anya laugh. “‘A pretty okay guy.’ Wow, sing his praises some more. Next you’ll tell me he pays his taxes on time every quarter and manages to drive the speeding limit.”