Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (20 page)

“What could I do for him in return? It’s not fair.”

“Send him home with some flowers for his mom. Seriously. He’s a nice kid. He’ll do a good job.”

She was going to have to call the insurance agent and do the paperwork to have him put on her business policy, but it wasn’t a terrible idea. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Plus, I have an ulterior motive.” She heard his low laughter. “How the hell are you going to be able to go to Jazz Alley with me later if you’re too exhausted to keep your eyes open? I’m only thinking of you here.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I’m sure you do. I’ll pick you up at six tonight.”

“I’m not dressed appropriately. I don’t have anything here to change into—”

“We’ll work it out later. See you then, Fifi.” He hung up the phone.

M
ATT LED HER
out the front door of Crazy Daisy at ten to six that evening.

“We have a reservation for the 9:30
PM
show. We’ll get you home, you can do whatever it is women do before they go out, and we’ll be back in Seattle in plenty of time.”

Even with someone else doing her deliveries that day, she was exhausted. She sat up a bit in the seat and pinched her underarm to force herself awake. “It sounds like fun.”

She was, of course, lying through her teeth. Her idea of fun right now was eight hours of sleep. Actually, a back rub would be even better, followed by eight hours of sleep. She’d started fantasizing about sleep like some women wished for a date with Ryan Gosling.

She also fantasized about Matt, though, and he was less than a foot away. She could always sleep when she was dead.

“It will be,” he said. He reached out to pat her hand.

“What did you do today?”

She saw his grin. “I met with my accountant. It was fascinating.”

She couldn’t stifle the laughter that rolled out of her.

“Funny, huh? I bet you dealt with guys like me all day long in your former profession,” he said.

“I mostly met with CFO’s. They’re a real blast. When I wasn’t talking with them, I was compiling reports and analysis and taking phone calls and—”

“Things are different now, aren’t they?”

“Just a bit. Plus, I don’t have to deal with the IRS all day long anymore.”

Matt must have had some kind of magic traffic scattering ability. He’d made it across the bridge to Redmond in record time. He braked at the stoplight in front of Amy’s townhouse development.

“I treated your temporary delivery driver to lunch, too. We talked about the NFL Combine and what he could expect from the draft. It’s a lot different now than when I was drafted.” He made the right turn onto Amy’s street. “He’s expected to go in the first round, so he’ll be invited to New York City for the festivities. I told him to do whatever he had to do to stay out of trouble between now and the end of April.”

Amy was listening to Matt, but she’d just had a horrible realization. He was fully intending to wait inside her house while she changed her clothes. It was currently a gigantic mess. She had a list for the grocery store, but she hadn’t been there yet. She had no beer, no coffee, and the kitchen was a disaster.

“Matt?”

She saw the dimples on either side of his mouth flash. “You sound a little panicky. What’s wrong?”

“Would you be terribly offended if I asked you to go get a cup of coffee and meet me back here in half an hour?”

“Why would I do that?”

“My house is a mess right now. It wouldn’t be comfortable for you. There’s a Starbucks half a mile down the street.”

He got out of the driver’s seat, hurried around the front, and opened her car door for her.

“I don’t want you to have to
see
this,” she finished.

They walked to her front door hand-in-hand. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ve heard this before.” He mimicked a woman’s voice. “‘Ooh, Matt. It’s such a mess in here. Really. It’s usually a lot cleaner.’ There might be a coffee cup in the sink and a few envelopes on the kitchen table, but every woman I’ve ever met thinks her house is right out of
Hoarders
.”

“I know you think you’re hilarious.” She dug through her purse for her keys.

“That’s because I am. Come on. You saw my house when it looked like hell. I want to see your place.”

“Fine.” She fit the key in the front door lock, and heard him laugh again as she swung the front door open.

M
ATT STOOD IN
the entryway to Fifi’s townhouse, a little shocked he’d actually managed to persuade her to let him inside. She worked so hard to keep him at arm’s length. He was wearing her down like Marshawn Lynch running the ball for four quarters against Green Bay’s defense.

He glanced around. Her house was mainly neutral tones, if the taupe carpeting and pale walls were any indicator. She had a few framed pieces of art along the hallway leading into the living room. The dining room table to his right had mail stacked on it and a goldfish bowl with a somewhat large goldfish swimming around. A faint wisp of lemon tickled his nose.

“I’ll give you the tour,” she said as she dropped her purse on the table. She gestured toward the fish. “This is Payton. You can feed him if you’d like. His food’s next to the bowl, and he gets a pinch.”

“Payton? Don’t tell me you’re a Peyton Manning fan.”

“Walter Payton, actually.” She gave him a smirk. “Old-school football. Try to keep up, Sparky.”

She knew who Walter Payton, one of the greatest running backs to ever play pro football, was. She named a pet after him. She was, officially, a keeper.

She moved into the galley kitchen. “As you can see, dishes in the sink. I need to wipe down the counters, too. Good luck finding anything edible in the refrigerator.”

Her kitchen featured white appliances, white tile countertops, and neutral vinyl on the floor. He saw some colorful dishes in the sink, so it seemed she was not completely in love with white. He wondered what she thought about the décor of his house. One thing was for sure: Payton would fit right in on the island in his kitchen.

He followed her into a greatroom-style living room. Love seats flanked the wood-burning fireplace. A flat screen TV hung on the opposite wall. He glanced around at framed photos, plants, a few books, and knick-knacks. He wondered where the mess was. It certainly wasn’t downstairs.

“Here are the remotes. I know you know how to work a flat screen. Would you like me to get you some water or something to drink while you wait?”

“What happened to the rest of the tour?”

He saw a flush creeping over her cheekbones. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Oh, there’s nothing else to see right now.”

“Sure there is. You’ve seen my room. I want to see yours.”

She blushed even harder, if it were possible. He had to admit it was kind of cute to see a woman worried about showing a guy her room.

“My bed isn’t made and my clothes are all over the place. I need to do a bunch of laundry, too. I’ll be ready in twenty minutes, and we can go.”

Matt tangled his fingers with hers. “You’re scared.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, but she still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know where you got that, but it’s not true.” She melted his heart when she got skittish. He didn’t think she was scared of him, or didn’t want to get physically involved. Maybe he should find out for himself.

He’d been waiting to hold her all day, and he didn’t want to wait a second more. He drew her a little closer when he felt her wrap her arms around his waist. She laid her soft cheek against his scratchy one, and he felt the warmth of her breath on the side of his neck.

She had a goldfish named Payton
. Where had she been all his life?

He tipped her chin up. He saw mischief in her amber-brown eyes as he cupped her cheek in one of his hands. He also noticed the circles forming beneath those eyes, which he knew better than to mention to her. She was exhausted after what must have been one hell of a day.

He’d make her forget.

He sealed his mouth over hers. He felt her stiffen a little at first with what must have been surprise, and then he felt her hands sliding up his chest, and her arms wrap around his neck. He slid his tongue into her mouth. She let out a moan.

God, she felt so good.

M
ATT’S MOUTH MOVED
over hers. Her heart pounded, her knees turned to water, and there was a very real possibility that she’d spontaneously combust. She reached up to slide her fingers through his hair, which curled around them. Kissing him while fully clothed was beyond wonderful. She could only imagine what would happen if they were both naked.

They were alone in her place, they’d spent the past week together, and reservations at Jazz Alley or not, she knew what was going to happen next. She
was
scared, but it wasn’t the getting naked with him part. They would go to bed. They’d go out for a while, he’d decide he couldn’t live with her schedule or the fact she wanted to do things on her own, and she would get her heart broken.

The problem was—and right now, it really didn’t seem like much of a problem—she didn’t want to say no. Amy dreamed about Matt. Actually, she dreamed about his left eyebrow. His eyes would sparkle, he’d say something moderately raunchy, that eyebrow would lift in a toe-curling
come here
invitation, and every part of her would superheat in response.

He slid his mouth to her neck, and she was wondering if she should lie down before she fell down. He was really good at this.

“You’re shaking like a leaf.” His hands stroked up and down her back, and she laid her head against his shoulder.

“It’s our third date,” came out of her mouth in much the same tone as if she had said, “The IRS called, and there’s a little problem with last year’s tax return.” Every adult knew what this meant.

“And?”

Why was she letting him dictate the encounter? This was not her first time. It wasn’t his, either.

“Amy, if you don’t want this, tell me no,” he said. “I can take it.” Despite the fact he spent most of his time trying to talk her into something these days, she knew he wouldn’t touch her again if she told him no.

Oh, she wanted him all right. It was positively infuriating that he managed to hang onto all his faculties while leaving her a wreck. She felt him nibble the hollow where her neck and collarbone joined. She couldn’t resist him anymore. Even more, she didn’t want to.

She could feel herself blushing again, but she whispered, “I don’t want to say no.”

“Maybe it’s time to continue the tour, then.”

M
ATT FOLLOWED HER
up the staircase to the second floor. Her room was visible from the landing. Her bed was unmade, but at least the sheets were clean. She thought she had a new box of condoms in her bedside table. The bathroom was a mess, though. Maybe she should kiss him again, before she lost her nerve.

She was still worried physical involvement with him would signal the end, but if Matt made love like he kissed, at least she’d have a memory that would last a lifetime. In the meantime, she was going to enjoy every second. He was hotter than the invention of fire, and every cell of her body was screaming for relief right about now.

Matt grinned at her. “Let’s go, Fifi.” He caught her up in his arms, and strode into her room.

She let out a startled shriek. “What are you doing?”

It ranked right up there with the more stupid questions known to mankind, but maybe she should put up some kind of token protest:
You are the sexiest man I have ever met, but of course I don’t want to sleep with you. Ohh, noooo.
Then again, she was limp as an overcooked spaghetti noodle due to nerves and lust, so any kind of rally was going to take superhuman effort.

Amy opened her mouth to remind him they had to be back in Seattle in an hour or so, and she saw his dimples flash. “You’re not going to argue with me right now, are you?”

“What about the reservation?”

She heard his low chuckle. “I don’t care about it if you don’t.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that spread over her face. “I don’t.”

“So, you don’t care if I wine and dine you first?”

Amy had to laugh, too. “That would be a no. Dazzle me, Matt Stephens.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

He kicked the door shut behind them, and deposited her in the middle of her bed. Twilight bled through the blinds at her window. The room was dim in the gathering darkness, but she could see him just fine.

Matt flopped down on his side inches away from her, kicked off his shoes, took her face in his hand and said softly, “It’s just us.”

He captured her lips with his. His mouth was firm but gentle on hers; she opened her mouth to give him better access as his tongue slid over the seam of her lips. Amy’s arms slipped around him as he pulled her closer. She felt his hands, warm and sure, on her bare skin as he pushed the sweater she wore over her bra.

He trailed his tongue down the side of her neck as he unhooked her bra. Other guys fumbled around with the whole bra-removal project. Not Matt. “I know you’re dying to argue with me about some damn thing, too. You’d better kiss me again.”

Amy had a crushing retort all lined up—well, until he teased one of her nipples with gentle fingertips. She caught his face in her hands, feeling the scratch of stubble against her palms. She slid her fingers into his hair. He yanked her sweater up and over her head, pulling her bra with it. He dropped them onto the floor.

“There. That’s much better.” He laid one big hand on her belly. “Now. Where was I?”

His eyes traveled from Amy’s shoes, over her calves, up her thighs, and stopped when he reached bare skin. He took a deep breath, and did nothing more than look his fill. He stared at her while she kicked off her shoes, and propped herself up on her elbows.

His voice was low and rough. “You’re still wearing too many clothes.”

“And you’re still fully dressed, Sparky.”

“What are we going to do about that?” he asked.

Matt watched her tongue as she licked her lips. She saw his eyes glitter. He slicked one hand through his hair. God, this was fun.

“Strip for me,” she said softly.