Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (5 page)

Amy let out another groan. Luckily, there was nobody else in her flower shop to hear it. Business had been slow since Valentine’s Day. The first day or so, it wasn’t that big of a deal. She needed a break after Emily and Brandon’s wedding. Now, though, she worried. She was hoping word-of-mouth from both the wedding and the advertising funds she squeezed out of the shop’s tiny budget would pay off for her. So far, things were a little quieter than Amy would have liked.

After ten years as a CPA, she’d worked hard to get the financing to open her business. Even with a fairly good Valentine’s Day business, she still needed to pay next month’s rent. There was always cleaning and bookwork to do, so she headed back into her workroom.

The phone rang, and she grabbed it. “Crazy Daisy.”

“Hey, weirdo.” Emily sounded like she was in the next room, instead of 2,600 miles away. “How’s it going?”

Amy sank down on a stool in front of her workbench. “Fine. How are you? Where’s your husband?”

“He’s sleeping,” her sister said. Amy heard laughter in her voice. “I think I wore him out. Poor guy. He just isn’t as young as he used to be.”

“Niiice. So, what else have you all been doing?”

“Well, we took a surfing lesson. It’s fun. I did a little shopping yesterday. Oh. Mom called. She and Dad tried to call your room after the wedding, and she said you didn’t call her back. I just said that you were probably out with a friend or something. Did Brian ever show up?”

“No. He had to work.”

Brian had to work, all right. She’d rather keep the news they were no longer a couple quiet until she figured out how to explain that to her family. She also wasn’t sure she wanted Brandon to know that she’d spent the evening after he and Emily’s wedding getting unintentionally plastered with one of his buddies—the cute one.

Amy restrained another groan.

“So, where were you?” Emily persisted.

“I had some tequila. I must have slept through the phone ringing.”

“Oh. Okay.” Amy knew Emily didn’t believe her, but she was saved by an unexpected source.

A sleepy-sounding male voice called out in the background, “Hey, sugar, who you talkin’ to?”

“Gotta go,” Emily said. Just before she hit the disconnect button, Amy heard Brandon telling her sister, “You’re wearing waaay too many clothes.”

“I’ll pretend like I didn’t hear that,” she told the resulting dial tone. Maybe she could use some brain bleach to erase
that
visual. She picked up the mop she was using on the workroom floor once more.

A few minutes later, the bell on the front door jingled, and Amy heard footsteps in the lobby. “I’ll be right with you,” she called out.

“Take your time,” a familiar male voice responded.

The hair lifted on the back of Amy’s neck. The mop fell back into the bucket with a splash. Brushing her wet hands off on her apron, she hurried around the corner of the workroom.

Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t really him.

Damn.
Matt Stephens gave her a smug grin.

“Good morning, Fifi. How are you?”

Her stomach did a complicated roll. Her heart rate picked up. Dread, embarrassment, and pleasure washed over her like the rains over Seattle from November to February. The palms she’d just dried off were already sweaty. Of course, he’d seen her, so she couldn’t run back into her postage stamp-sized office and lock the door.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted.

Matt pretended great interest in a cymbidium orchid. “You never called. I had to make sure you didn’t go deep-sea diving off the hotel balcony, didn’t I? Plus, I need to send some flowers.”

“How did you find me?” Just speaking was a major undertaking at that point. She’d never met a guy who flustered her like this before.

Matt twirled what Amy recognized as one of her business cards in his fingers. He lifted an eyebrow.

“How’d you get that?”

He drummed the side of the business card on the counter. His mouth twitched with barely repressed laughter. “Just call me Sherlock.”

He must have swiped it from one of Brandon’s friends. Amy tried to think of a clever retort, but her brain was currently experiencing some kind of power failure. The blood was obviously rushing to the parts of her body that didn’t regulate speech.

She’d inched out of the workroom while they were talking, and now Matt stood a few feet away from her. He was casually dressed in beat-up Levis, a blue-and-white checked sport shirt, and a black leather jacket. Despite ditching the suit and tie he wore for his TV appearances, he was still gorgeous. And she still felt like an idiot.

“Speaking of the flowers,” he said, “I need some delivered tomorrow. Think you can handle that?”

“Where are they going?” If she could just concentrate on the business transaction, she could hope to get through this without embarrassing herself further. Maybe.

“Are you familiar with the condos across the street from Carillon Point in Kirkland?”

“Yes,” Amy said. She pulled an order pad and pen out of one of the pockets of her apron. “What would you like?”

“So, why didn’t you call me, Fifi?”

“I was busy,” she said.

She fiddled with the pen. Of course, it slipped out of her fingers, and she dropped it on the floor. She bent to retrieve it. When she straightened up again, she couldn’t look into his eyes.

“I was concerned,” he said.

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity but was most likely under a minute. He let out a breath.

“I’d like eighteen pink roses arranged with whatever it is you put with them to make them look nice.” He pointed to the paler pink variety she’d picked up from the wholesaler just that morning. “Those.”

“Whom are you sending them to?”

He rattled off an address and telephone number and added, “They’re for Samantha.”

“Does Samantha have a last name?”

“Just ‘Samantha,” he insisted. He twirled the card holder she kept on the counter, selected one with brightly colored balloons printed on it, and spent a few minutes scrawling a note. He slid the card back into the envelope, tucked the flap beneath, and handed it to Amy. “What’s the damage?”

“One hundred dollars plus tax.”

“A hundred bucks. I should have gone to the grocery store.”

He handed her his platinum card, though, which she swiped through the credit card machine. She resisted the impulse to tell him it had been declined, just to yank his chain. His fingers brushed Amy’s as she passed him the card slip and a pen, and she felt a jolt of heat. She jerked away. Her stomach did another slow roll.

“Are you all right?”

She wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment.

“Fine,” she chirped, with a breeziness she didn’t feel. “I’ll have these to Samantha by tomorrow afternoon.” She stapled the credit card slip to the receipt, and handed it to him. “Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome, Fifi.”

Oddly enough, he seemed in no hurry to leave. He sniffed at a small vase of carnations set out on the counter. Amy tried to look busy and efficient, while she wondered if her brain was melting. She just couldn’t get past all the humiliating crap she’d said to him a week ago. It was a new low for her, even if she was a bit impaired at the time. Plus, her behavior that evening was a complete accident. She supposed she could have tried pleading the effects of extreme exhaustion and alcohol consumption, but she hadn’t acted like that even in college. She got an hour or two with a guy who gave a whole new meaning to “drop dead gorgeous,” and she acted like a reality TV star.
Great
.

She heard him speak once more, and she managed to tip over the small box holding an entire day’s worth of receipts.

“Let’s grab a cup of coffee.”

Her head snapped up. “Are you talking to me?”

Matt gave her a look that could only be classified as another smirk.

“There’s nobody else here. Who did you think I was talking to?”

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that he’d just spent a hundred dollars, the shop’s rent was due in two weeks, and he probably had women crying on his shoulder every day, which was even more embarrassing. Oh, God. He probably thought she was an NFL groupie. She’d rather die than turn into one of those women who attended a football game in a micro mini and stilettos.

Matt was positively unruffled by their exchange. “How about it? I’ll even treat.”

“I can’t,” she informed him immediately.

“You’re the boss. You can do whatever you want,” he countered.

“I have too much work.”

“It can wait.”

“No, it can’t.”

He didn’t seem to be listening. “Next time, then.”

This needed to stop, right now, even if her toes were curling in her shoes. Even if the laughter he was still fighting to control melted her heart.

“Matt. I really appreciated your help the other night. Obviously, tequila does bad things to me.” He let out a snort, and she continued. “It’s really thoughtful of you to check on me, and of course I appreciate the business. At the same time, I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to have coffee.”

He leaned on the counter a bit. “Why not?”

The fresh-air-and-laundry-soap scent she noticed the other night drifted toward her again. Her heart was banging against her breastbone like a loose shutter in a hurricane, her knees knocked, and she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Look. I’m a big football fan, so it was great to meet you. At the same time, I can imagine you’d like to settle down some day, and truthfully, you are the last man on earth I would do that with. We shouldn’t date at all.” She immediately wanted to bite out her own tongue. It was true, but she didn’t have to be so blunt.

“Is that so?” The corners of his mouth dimpled. “What if I’d just like to have a cup of coffee with an attractive woman?”

“I’m not your type.”

According to the stuff she’d read about Matt, that was a giant understatement. After all, she had a career. She didn’t spend all day Sunday prancing around on the sidelines of a football game in a pair of knee-high white boots, even if at least one of her friends did. She was surprised he wasn’t pursuing someone like Mackenzie, an NFL cheerleader whose yoga studio was two doors down. He also seemed quite fond of breast implants, if the photos she’d seen of his former girlfriends were any indicator. They’d never quite made her “to-do” list.

His smile grew. His voice was deceptively mild. “Maybe you should let me decide who is, or is not, ‘my type.’”

“I really don’t think—”

He cut her off. “The last man on earth.” His eyes moved over her face. “Now there’s a challenge if I’ve ever heard one.” His voice dropped to a low, sexy rumble. “There must be a lot of other guys you wouldn’t want to end up with besides me.”

He was the picture of injured innocence—
who, me?—
the wolf whose big teeth Little Red Riding Hood didn’t see until it was much too late. Unfortunately for Matt, she’d already spent some time in the forest, and she’d met plenty of guys like him before.

“Again, Matt, good to meet you. Thanks for stopping by. Have a nice evening.”

When he finally stopped laughing, he pinned her with his eyes.

“So, I’m guessing that whole sperm donor thing is off as well?”

“I am really embarrassed that I said that stuff—”

“It was the most entertaining date I’ve been on in a long time.” His voice was gentle. “It’s just coffee. I promise I don’t have a marriage license in my back pocket.”

Amy swallowed hard. Obviously, Matt thought the word
no
was a cue for negotiations to start. She was wavering, but at the same time, she wasn’t an idiot. This guy was trouble in gift-wrap. The package was gorgeous, but she was more than a little apprehensive of what she’d find when she tore the shiny paper off.

“That wasn’t a date. If it was anything at all, it was the after-after party for my sister’s wedding reception.” She sucked in a breath. “You date supermodels, actresses, and NFL cheerleaders. I’m none of those things.” She moved toward the workroom. “Thanks again for the business, Matt, but no, thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.”

He sauntered out the front door.

Amy waited till the front door bell stopped jingling, and curiosity got the best of her. She slid the flap of the envelope he left on her counter open.

The card read, “Sam, I fell in love with you for the rest of my life the moment I saw you. I love you, kitten.”

Chapter Four

“W
HAT A CHEATING
dog!” Amy cried out in her empty shop.

He sent love notes to some chick named “Samantha,” but he asked
her
to have coffee with him. What did he think she was? This just confirmed that she was right to turn down the coffee date he offered. He was just like so many of the guys she’d met before. He would turn on the charm, and then she’d find out that he was the world’s biggest creep. Good thing she knew before she got emotionally involved with him. Well, except for that whole “turned her knees to water” thing. She wasn’t going to see him again, anyway. It didn’t matter.

Amy wanted to throw the enclosure card on the shop floor and stomp on it. She managed to paper clip it to the order form instead, and stalked into the cooler to grab eighteen pink roses, greens, and a little pittosporum. Scum. Poor Samantha had no idea what kind of ass she was with. Samantha was probably some nice, trusting woman who didn’t know she was involved with some scary ex-NFL player who dazzled women with his gorgeousness, and then stomped his natural turf cleats all over her heart. If she kept thinking about that, she wouldn’t remember the way Matt had slipped the pins out of her hair, one at a time.

The next morning Amy drove to the address Matt provided for his order. She still couldn’t afford a full-time delivery driver. It was just another challenge for a small business owner.

The condos across the street from Kirkland’s Carillon Point were luxurious, with a price tag to match. They faced out over Lake Washington, which was a tranquil, almost opaque medium blue this morning. She rang the doorbell at the address on the slip. A tall, dark-haired, barefoot woman appearing to be Amy’s age and wearing jeans, a worn Ramones t-shirt, black toenail polish, and a mischievous expression answered the door.