Blitzing Emily (11 page)

“Here’s the short version. When I had to go to the hospital yesterday, the nurse was joking around, and called me his fiancée in front of a large group of sports fans.”

“And they believed it.”

“He thought it was funny. I don’t know if he said anything at the time, but then he started getting calls about it early this morning.”

Emily crossed her ankles and stuffed another pillow behind her back.

“Why didn’t you tell them it wasn’t true?” Amy asked.

She fidgeted a little. “I had five booking requests this morning.”

A speculative light came into her sister’s eyes. “Really? That’s great, Em.”

“There’s one more thing. James called.”

Amy reached out for Emily’s hand. “That bastard. What did he want?”

Emily felt a lump form in her throat.

“He wanted to congratulate me. He said that he and Heather are happy for me. He wants to let go of the bitterness. After all, we can be friends.”

A flush climbed up Amy’s neck and spread over her face. Her eyes glittered with anger. “What an asshole.” She shook her head.

“I hung up on him. I can’t believe he had the gall to call me, Amy. ‘Friends’? Not in this lifetime.”

“What did Brandon do?”

“He has his own set of reasons why it’s good for us to be engaged right now.”

A smirk curved her sister’s lips. “Let me guess. His ex-girlfriend won’t get off his back.”

“He also said something about his contract negotiations, and the coach being happy about this.” Amy squeezed Emily’s hand as she let go. “So, we agreed that we’d stay engaged for a month. It tells the ex-girlfriend to get lost, the team’s happy, and James will get the hint that someone else actually wants me.”

Amy squirmed a bit on the bed. “So, Em, I realize you’re not going to know this because you’re not here a lot and you don’t watch football, but I guess I’d better tell you. Brandon’s a bit of a handful.”

“That’s the truth. I can’t figure him out. One minute, he’s sweet and funny, the next minute, I’d like to throw something at him.” Emily thought for a moment. “He did say something about a public relations issue.”

“You might say that.”

“What happened?”

“You’re not going to be happy.” Amy studied the ceiling for a moment. “Brandon and a bunch of other players were at a party last month at a teammate’s house and the cops came.”

“Was it drugs? Drinking?
What?
”

“A sixteen-year-old girl who looks twenty-five.”

“Oh, God. Oh, no.”
His
career. What about
her
career? She was an idiot.

Amy continued. “There were underage girls at the party getting body parts signed, and therefore, Brandon got dragged into it as well. The team has already traded two guys as a result. The only things that saved him were his signing closer to her collarbone than her breast, his apology in person to the girl’s father, and his significant donation to the Boys and Girls Club.”

“So, he’s going to be trolling the high schools,” Emily groaned.

“No.” Amy shook her head vigorously. “That’s not his speed. He likes to have fun, he likes the women, but according to the people I know who know him, he was horrified at what happened. He definitely doesn’t want to end up on the online gossip websites again. Plus, they just drafted a new DE, and he’s trying to renegotiate his contract right now. He wants to retire with as much of the owners’ money as he can over the next couple of years.” Amy took a breath. “The other stuff he gets in trouble for is being late for curfew on road trips, that kind of stuff. It’s pretty minor.”

“You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Don’t kid yourself: That guy is busy, but he’s not dangerous. He’s just much too charming. There are women all over town that could probably tell you all about it. I
know
there are women who’d like to see him dragged behind the team bus, but they did stick up for him when it happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Emily crossed her arms over her chest. This wasn’t good news. It sounded like she’d vaulted out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“Everything goes well till he’s tired of whoever he’s with, and then it’s over. It’s happened repeatedly. Then again, I can’t figure out why he was dating Anastasia Lee. You know, the model. She’s a head case.”

Amy’s supply of local gossip was inexhaustible. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“I’m single and I date. Plus, one of the Sharks’ cheerleaders has a yoga studio next door to the shop. I’ll ask her if she has any new dirt.”

“Has he been engaged before?”

Amy thought for a moment. “Good question. She’ll know. She said her cell phone started ringing with this late last night.” She flopped down on her back next to Emily. “So, he was nice to you?”

“He stayed with me at the hospital. They wouldn’t let me check out unless he promised to watch me, and he did. He slept here last night. He woke me up to make sure I was okay, he fed me, and he tried to make me feel better when James called.”

Amy nodded, and her eyebrows lifted. “He might be nice, but he’s a player.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “This would also mean that I suck. Why didn’t you call me? I would have stayed with you.”

“You couldn’t have left your shop yesterday if you wanted to, and you know it.”

Amy twirled a long strand of Emily’s hair around her fingertip. “You’re my only sister. Plus, you know all my secrets. I would have been here.”

“I was okay.” Emily stared at the ceiling. “Brandon is also saving my butt as far as the engagement. Overnight, everyone seems to want to book me, even if James told the entire industry I’m ‘difficult.’”

An evil smirk turned up the corners of Amy’s lips as she considered Emily’s comment.

“Oh, I see. You just decided to go along with this.”

“What do you mean?” Emily said. Oh, no. Amy was like a dog with a bone under the best of circumstances, and she smelled steak.

“You hate this, don’t you? Don’t play dumb. Let’s face it, Em, he’s gorgeous. I’d hit that. Lots of other women already have.” Emily wrapped both arms around herself. She didn’t want to think about Brandon “hitting it” with anyone else.

A cross between a laugh and a snort left Amy’s lips. “You get to wear a diamond the size of a car headlight; you get to play house with him for a month . . .”

“Ame, come on. I won’t be around. I’m working all month, anyway.”

Amy tried to control her mirth, and Emily tried to control her annoyance.

“What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?” Amy said. “How are you going to explain getting engaged to someone you’ve known for twenty-four hours? This isn’t going to work.”

“Of course it will,” Emily assured her. As long as nobody found out the truth, everything was fine.

W
ORRYING ABOUT WHAT
her parents might have to say about all this was actually low on Emily’s priority list. She was thinking about her upcoming performances. There were two weeks of rehearsals in Seattle, another two weeks of performances, and she’d be in Chicago for five weeks after that. When Emily wasn’t in rehearsals for an upcoming performance, she worked doubly hard with her new voice teacher and her coach to learn more roles. The more operas she knew, the more roles she was prepared to sing, the more marketable she was.

Sopranos had a limited shelf life in the opera world, and Emily’s goal was making it to the Met in the next two years. She could sing the top roles for ten years after that. She’d retire with an incredible body of work. Her goals got her out of bed in the morning. There wasn’t time for a relationship, no matter how lonely she sometimes was.

If Emily stuck with the plan, she could have everything she dreamed of and worked toward. This was Job One. She’d find a guy later on.

A few hours after Amy went home, Emily heard a knock at her front door. She peered through the peephole.

“Sugar, it’s me,” Brandon said. He stood on the doorstep holding what appeared to be an overnight bag. “Maybe you should invite me in.”

She pulled the front door open wide enough for Brandon to stroll inside. Pointing at the bag he held, she said, “I’m fine. You have a life! I don’t expect you to stay here.”

“Of course you should. It’s almost dinnertime. You’re cooking, aren’t you?”

Emily shut the front door behind him. “I don’t think so. Which one of us has a concussion?”

He laughed as he dropped the bag next to the little table in the hallway, alongside the two suitcases that were still there from the other day. He took Emily’s elbow, and led her into the kitchen. He pulled the refrigerator door open to look inside.

“You don’t eat at home, do you?”

“No. No, I don’t,” she said, somewhat absently.

“Looks like it. Does opera have seasons, like the NFL?”

“It depends on the opera company and when they’re mounting productions.”

He nodded. He was still studying the inside of the refrigerator, newly full as a result of the grocery run he’d made while Emily slept. She was unused to seeing that much food. Then again, she’d seen Brandon eat. It wasn’t going to be enough.

“What do you think we should make?” he asked.

“Let’s order something instead.”

Emily pulled open the drawer by the kitchen sink, which held every food delivery and takeout menu she collected over the three years she owned her house. She supposed she should have been embarrassed about this, but it wasn’t something she spent a lot of time dwelling on. If she was hungry, she ate, and typically it was ready-made.

He shut the refrigerator door, and turned to face her. A teasing smile spread over his lips. “You don’t know how to cook.”

“Well, I can make things in the microwave, and I . . .” Her voice trailed off. She was facing a full-on, naughty grin. The dimple in his left cheek flashed. She resisted the impulse to trace it with her fingertip. What was wrong with her, anyway? This wasn’t real. She needed to get a grip on herself and her runaway hormones.

He reached out for her. His voice in her ear was low and seductive.

“I’m a very good cook, and I give lessons. They cost hardly anything.”

She tried to break away, but he didn’t let go of her. She was torn between nervousness and attraction. Confusion played a role, too. She couldn’t imagine what he thought he was doing.

She moved away, and he followed, one inch at a time.

“We have all these menus here.” Emily dug around in the pile. “Look. Thai food, British pub food, Mexican, a bistro, pizza, sub sandwiches, there’s all kinds. What are you in the mood for?”

She was talking a mile a minute, and he took her chin in his fingertips. Her knees were knocking. She was a little dizzy. She couldn’t decide if it was from the concussion or the fact that Brandon had now slipped his hand into her hair, and was slowly drawing her closer. He was touching her again. Wait a minute. This was supposed to be
pretend.

“A kiss for a lesson,” he coaxed.

“I don’t know what you want to eat,” she protested, but her voice trailed off again. Her eyes were drawn to his lips, to the dimple denting his left cheek, to his half-lidded eyes. His arm slid around her. She took a quick breath.

“Imagine how many lessons you’ll need if you’ve never cooked before, sugar.” His lips brushed Emily’s forehead. His low voice sent a shiver up her spine. “That might be a lot of kisses. I know I said I’d teach you, but are you up to all that kissing?”

Her knees were doing this odd, melting thing. Her fingertips slid over the warmth of his skin, the silken blond hair on his forearms (and some truly impressive biceps). He pulled her even closer. “I think I’ll enjoy it,” he assured Emily.

“But we’re not supposed to be kissing,” she said in a small voice.

“Says who?”

She looked up at him. It seemed urgent that she tell him. “My knees aren’t working.”

“Oh, they’re not? That’s terrible. Better hold onto me, then.”

He got closer. His mouth was moving toward hers, and her eyelids drifted closed. She’d been here before, but not with him. His arms tightened around her; he was a whisper from her mouth; she licked her lips . . .

Emily’s eyes snapped open. What was she doing? She pushed against his chest, shoving herself away. No.
No.
She was not getting in a clinch with this man, even if she wanted to. Even if he was handsome, sexy, and smelled really great. Even if she was dying to kiss him.

Brandon looked a bit startled. “What the hell was that?”

“Self-preservation.” One hand shot toward him, traffic cop-style. “Keep your lips to yourself, football boy.”

“Really?” He leaned against the kitchen counter, bracing one hand on it: One big, strong, warm, capable-looking hand. His charm was still set on ‘stun’, too. “Is it me you object to, the kissing, or both?”

There was a Mexican standoff of sorts in Emily’s kitchen. She still held one hand out. He looked like it was all he could do to control his laughter. Her arm dropped to her side. “Let’s just get some dinner, and we’ll talk about it later.”

“Promises, promises,” Brandon said, but she was shuffling through the menus again. “It’s been a long day for you, so we’ll stay in tonight. I’ll give you a cooking demonstration. Plus, we need to start dating. Maybe we should discuss that.”

“You will? We do?”

Emily was attempting to pretend five minutes ago hadn’t happened. She was still dazed. Plus, she needed to assert herself a little here. He did not get to make all the decisions. It was time he found out who was in charge here:
Her.
She’d functioned just fine until the day before yesterday, when Hurricane Brandon blew into her life.

“Of course we do. We’re engaged. We have to date.” He leaned over to sniff her hair. “You smell wonderful.”

Abruptly, reason returned. “Oh, I must have misunderstood. Cameras must be rolling. Where’s
NFL Today
? Save it for the fans, big guy.”

She didn’t miss the look of surprise.

“We made a deal. If we stick with the deal, it’ll work well for both of us. Let’s not screw it up.”

She glared at him.

“Fine.” He exhaled. “We should be talking, though. We’ll get to know each other better so we can pull this off. We both have to eat.”