Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (12 page)

“Yes. I am.”

Considering he was a man she’d done nothing but spar with, it all felt like a dream. They sat together peacefully. She gave Matt’s hand another squeeze. Her hand felt so small inside his. He squeezed back.

A few seconds later Amy’s reverie was broken by motion she saw out of the corner of her eye. Their server was practicing picking up a large platter in the kitchen area, flipping it around on her wrist, and laughing at a conversation Amy couldn’t hear.

Their salads arrived. The server poured them each another glass of wine. Amy rested her chin in her hand. Matt glanced up from his plate. “What’s on your mind?”

“Matt Stephens, is this who you really are? Why do I think I don’t even know you?”

“I’m full of surprises.” He lifted his glass and touched it to Amy’s. “To exploration.” They both took a sip, and he gestured toward her plate. “The salad’s good, Fifi. Try it.”

Amy took a bite. The flavors of fresh spinach, sliced strawberries, and a tangy dressing exploded on her tongue. She took another bite, and tasted a hint of crumbled blue cheese and sliced almonds. If the salad was this delicious, she couldn’t wait to try the entrée. Although she was fairly absorbed in her food, she still noticed their server approaching.

The woman carried a very large tray of food. She flipped her wrist as she lowered the tray to a standing holder. Well, she tried.

It all happened so slowly. Panic spread over her face as the server realized she’d lost her grip. She grabbed for the rim of the tray with her other hand. The tray slid away from her, full plates slipping off the tray and flipping in mid-air, and Amy had just enough time to grab her head in a panic. What if they hit her? Matt reached over the table for her, knocking over his wineglass, and half-rose from his chair.

“Oh, God. Oh, no!” the server exclaimed. “
Shit
.”

By some miracle, the heavy plates missed Amy, but their contents didn’t. She was showered with four platefuls of hot Italian food. The glassware smashed on the floor as it fell, spilling contents everywhere, and the tray bounced off the floor.

The server was still talking. “I am so sorry! Let me help—”

Amy had spaghetti in her hair, penne in her lap, lasagna everywhere else. A large chunk of rigatoni lay in the middle of her salad plate. The penne in her lap was marinated by the glass of white wine that drenched her as it flew off the tray. The server pulled a towel out of her belt and offered it to Amy, while frantically motioning to another server.

“Please—please let the kitchen know we need clean towels—and more food!”

The chaos swirled around Amy. She knew people were talking to her. The customers at the next table whose entrees and wine had taken a dive were all up out of their seats. The expressions on their faces registered either shock or hilarity. She could see the commotion, but all she could focus on was Matt. He didn’t yell at the luckless server, or freak out in any way. He braved the mess on the floor, crouched down next to her, and cleaned sauce off her face with his napkin.

“What do I do now?” she asked him.

His voice was gentle. “You’re supposed to eat it, not wear it.” He pulled a chunk of spaghetti out of Amy’s hair, and dropped it onto the ruined dinner table. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Let’s get dinner to go.”

Chapter Nine

A
FTER A SPONGE
bath in the restaurant’s ladies’ room, Amy managed to pull herself together enough to make the trip home. The restaurant provided an unopened bottle of wine and a free t-shirt. It would have been even better to get a shower and a change of clothing from the skin out. However, beggars—or people covered in marinara sauce and wine—couldn’t be choosers. The labor-intensive cleanup would have to wait till Amy got home.

She tried to look at the bright side: Nobody was hurt. By the time she emerged from the ladies’ room, the restaurant was mostly back to peaceful enjoyment of some delicious-looking Italian food. She loved Italian food. She just didn’t imagine wearing it.

Matt’s contemplative mood seemed to be gone, along with the largest chunks of pasta, cheese, and sauce out of Amy’s hair and off her clothing.

“Are you okay? You weren’t burned or anything, right?” He had her arm and held the shopping bag full of entrees they hadn’t had a chance to try, and he was pulling her toward the car. “They gave you another bottle of wine, too?”

“I’m fine. I—I need to go home and take a shower. I’m going to have to cut our date short.” He opened the car door for her. “Maybe another time.”

“You still need to eat.” He got into the driver’s side. He didn’t flinch over Amy’s stained clothes touching the leather seats of the Mercedes, which she thought was nice. “There’s some tiramisu in that bag.”

“I’m not really hungry right now.”

Matt turned to her at a stoplight and touched her hand. “The evening didn’t quite turn out as I envisioned.”

“Well, you never know when you’re going to be dive-bombed by a plate of lasagna.” She wondered how much it would cost to get the interior of his Mercedes detailed. “What was your original plan?”

“We’d have dinner, we’d go for a walk on the waterfront or something. How does that sound?”

She glanced out the window to see moonlight rippling over Lake Washington. It would have been incredibly romantic if she didn’t smell like she’d been bathing in tomato sauce. Amy knew this was her cue to say, “We should try this again sometime,” but she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d had during the glass of wine and the few bites of salad they shared.

Even if her relationships had a bad habit of blowing up, she still wanted any emotional involvement to be her decision, especially with a guy who seemed to see right through her. She wanted to find the guy she trusted enough to be herself with, on her own terms. She hoped for a man who would woo her with patience and tenderness.

Amy was tired, and it had nothing to do with lack of sleep. She wished that somehow he was everything she’d glimpsed in that few minutes earlier at the restaurant. Her
Great Things about Matt
list was still growing, too. She knew the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result. Maybe she should try something different, just once. Maybe she should give him another chance.

She bit her lip, and inched one toe off the high-dive.

“That would have been nice.”

A few moments later he reached out and took her hand. Just holding his hand, Amy broke out in a cold sweat. This was the real thing. She was out with a man, not a boy. He made her long for something she’d never known and had wanted desperately. When it ended, she’d never get over it.

Matt stopped in the driveway at her townhouse and shut the engine off. He stared out of the windshield. “This is about more than having food spilled all over you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

She fidgeted a bit. “Not right now.”

She opened the car door and slid off the seat. He grabbed the bag of food and followed her up the walk. They stopped at her front door. Normally she would have had the keys in her hand before she even got out of the car, but she was so dazed by his nearness it was difficult to remember the most basic things right now. He tipped her chin up with gentle fingers.

“Let’s have another glass of wine. I happen to have a bottle right here.”

“No, thank you. I need to go get in the shower.” She tried to take a breath. “Thank you for—oh, just thank you.”

He wasn’t letting go. “Amy.” His voice was beguiling. “Don’t leave.”

“I need to go.”

“Talk to me.” He moved closer.

“I—I have to go.” She pushed the key into the doorknob, gave it a shove, and tried to move away from him. He didn’t let go. His hold on her was gentle, but he wasn’t moving away, and he wasn’t letting her pass. He set the shopping bag down beside them on the front porch, and Amy heard the slight “clunk” of a wine bottle on cement.

She studied her shoes. He spoke into her ear. “This didn’t go the way I wanted it to. I wanted to talk with you some more. I wanted to find out why I can’t seem to stay away.” He left a trail of tiny kisses over her cheek. “I want another chance, Fifi.”

“I’ve got to go,” she whispered.

“I know.” He kissed the sensitive patch of skin behind her earlobe. She shivered. “I want one more thing, though.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed. If she could get in the house, she could mop up from there, and it wasn’t her clothes that needed the most help. When she needed Matt to be a blustering, arrogant, uncaring ass, he melted her heart instead with quiet words and gentle kisses. She could still get away. All she had to do was take a few steps, and she would be inside, behind a locked door. His hand slid to the side of her neck: Danger, Will Robinson.

He was a snake charmer, and she was the little cobra that wanted to sleep in the warmth and comfort of her basket in the sun. He was a tomcat, and she was the sparrow drawn to his lair for food. He was a backyard bug zapper, and she was a moth. She could conjure analogies all night long, but they all added up to the same thing: Her attraction to him—and there was a lot of it, she had to admit—couldn’t overcome her anxiety, or the scent of tomato sauce.

Matt went after what he wanted, and she was no exception. His mouth covered hers. He nibbled and teased, stroked and sampled. His tongue found its way into Amy’s mouth. He tasted like the wine they had drunk. She discovered that alcohol was not necessarily the most intoxicating taste she’d ever known, too. She fisted her hands in his shirt front.

She tried to pull any breath at all into her lungs, and used most of it to tell him, “This is so unfair.”

“What do you mean?” His lips hovered half an inch from hers. Maybe she should shut up and kiss him again.

“You’re a great kisser, too? It’s just so—”

He cut off whatever she was going to say with another kiss. She felt his smile against her mouth. His arms wrapped around her. She hung onto him despite her best intentions. A few minutes later Amy’s defenses were melting like a snowball in Palm Desert, and Matt lifted his head.

“I’ll pick you up day after tomorrow at the store. Don’t dress up.”

She found her voice. “What do you mean?”

“Saturday. Six o’clock. Bring a jacket.” He stepped back and handed her the shopping bag. She was so shocked she took it as she backed over her threshold. “Goodnight.”

He pulled the front door closed as he walked away.

She resisted the impulse to pull the door open, tackle him on the front lawn, and do a few things to him that would bring a substantial fine from the homeowner’s association at the very least. She reached for the doorknob as she heard Matt’s car drive away.

A
MY PUT THE
untouched food into the fridge before she hit the shower. She didn’t sleep well that night, either. She kept remembering the look in Matt’s eyes as they sipped wine at the restaurant, how his nearness had been enough. There was only a little conversation before she found herself showered with Italian food, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Despite her trepidation, she wondered what it was about Matt she couldn’t seem to resist. Obviously, he was handsome. He had money. He was charming (most of the time), funny, and intelligent. He was everything any woman would want, but there was something deeper than the exterior attracting her, and maybe she needed to find out what that was.

She didn’t want to lean on anyone else. She didn’t want to lose herself in a man, either. She wanted to do things herself, be in control and succeed on her own terms, but the temptation to rest against Matt’s broad shoulder and let him take over was almost irresistible. The most frightening thing of all: She liked it.

Chapter Ten

A
MY LET HERSELF
into her parents’ house after work the next day. Even if she didn’t live here anymore, she still had a key. Plus, it was March Madness. Her dad wasn’t moving from his recliner unless the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders were coming over for dinner. The cheerleaders showing up for dinner was doubtful, but he’d still get to see the main event: The University of Washington men’s basketball team was playing Duke for a spot in the Elite Eight, and nothing else—besides beer—would make him glance away from the TV.

“Mom and Dad,” she called out. “Is anyone home?”

She moved into the kitchen, and began unloading her grocery bags. Beer, tortilla chips, avocados for guacamole, and her dad’s favorite, wings. His doctor had recommended Mark Hamilton find another favorite snack food. Amy’s dad’s response was to cut down to a few times a year. Obviously, the doctor didn’t know that March Madness was as much a religious observance as Christmas Day to Mark and his youngest daughter.

Amy and her dad bonded over sports. They had to find something to do during the football offseason, so the ritual of watching college basketball’s biggest show began.

Meg Hamilton hurried into the kitchen. “There you are. Your dad thought you were going to miss the tipoff.” She embraced Amy. “Did you close the shop early?”

“Yeah. We’re not getting as much walk-in as phone business right now. Plus, everyone’s glued to their TV tonight.”

Amy’s mom’s brilliant copper hair had gray in it now. She didn’t move as quickly as she did when Amy was younger, but she was no less graceful. Meg was a former ballerina who had given up a promising, red-hot career to marry her one true love, Amy’s dad, Mark. One divorce later, they were now engaged. Again.

Meg scooted around her daughter, reached into the refrigerator, and produced a baking dish. “I made seven-layer dip for you two, with low-fat sour cream. Your dad will love it.”

“Mom, I brought some avocados. You didn’t have to do that. Plus, I have take-out from the Wing Dome.” The Wing Dome’s selection of sauces ranged from mildly spicy to seven-alarm hot. On an occasion like tonight, supermarket deli wings weren’t going to cut it.

“I know you both enjoy this, so I wanted to. A few snacks won’t hurt him once or twice a year. Let me get this stuff set up in the family room, and then I’m going outside to pull some weeds.” Needless to say, Meg Hamilton did not share Mark and Amy’s love of sports. She patted Amy on the back, and her eyes narrowed.