Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (8 page)

Samantha was Matt’s
daughter
. Mary Margaret was a nun, as were several of the flower recipients she’d met last night. He’d sent a huge number of arrangements to females all over the city, while leading her to believe he was romantically involved with all of them.

Matt was a dead man.

L
ATE THAT AFTERNOON,
Amy rang the doorbell at Matt’s house. It was nothing like she’d expected, and she glanced around as she waited. He lived in a Craftsman-style, one-story home beside a small lake on Redmond’s Novelty Hill. The house was beautiful, but it wasn’t huge.

“Be right there,” a voice called out.

A very rumpled, sleepy-looking Matt opened the door. Amy pushed the vase of flowers into his chest.

She couldn’t think of anything else to say besides, “Thanks for telling me you have a daughter.” She turned on her heel to go.

“Got somewhere to be, little girl?” She turned back toward him. He really did look awful. His voice was raspy, and the end of his nose was red.

“I have to go back to work.”

“No, you don’t,” he argued. “You close at six. It’s twenty after.”

“Bookwork. Inventory. Payroll. Gotta go.”

She was pulling it all out of her butt, but he wouldn’t know that. Something was wrong. Besides the red nose, his hair was matted to his head, he was pale, and his clothes looked like he’d slept in them.

“You’re here. You might as well have some coffee with me. Better yet, how about some chicken soup?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I am. Will you make some for me?”

He really did look miserable. The next word out of his mouth made her bite her tongue instead of telling him one more time how busy she was, as she’d intended.

“Please?” He reached out one hand to her but didn’t touch her. “You probably shouldn’t come near me at all right now. Maybe we could lay down some kind of Lysol barrier.” He regarded her for a moment.

“Fine,” she said.

She knew she was risking the worst cold this side of bubonic plague, but he was obviously so sick he needed help. If she ended up with whatever he had as a result, she deserved it for being such a sucker, but she reached out to push the door open a bit further. He backed up as she stepped over the threshold of his house.

Amy glanced around the entryway, which was surprisingly neat. His car keys and wallet rested on the hall table next to another vase of wildflowers. She indicated the flowers with a nod.

“One of your many admirers?”

“My mom sent them.” Amy resisted the impulse to ask why his mom didn’t order flowers for him from her shop.

“Does she live here? Maybe you should call her to come and take care of you.”

“She’s in Seattle.” He rubbed one hand over his face. “She’s—ah, she’s elderly, and I don’t want her driving after dark.” He gazed down at her. “Hey. What’s your favorite flower?”

“Excuse me?”

“You must have one. What is it?”

“Sweet peas.”

“That’s interesting, Fifi.” He probably didn’t even know what they were.

Matt gave Amy a shadow of his typical smirk and led her into the kitchen. Now, this was more like it. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. It looked like he’d spent the past several days with enough strength to feed himself, but that was about it. Even now he swayed a bit as he put the flowers down on the center island.

“Matt.” Amy quickly snaked an arm around his waist to steady him. “You need to sit down.” She wrinkled her nose at the evidence that he hadn’t changed his clothes for a while.

“Just tired,” he informed her, but he didn’t resist. He looped his arm around her shoulders, walking them through an informal dining area to what must have been the family room. The coffee table was covered with more dirty dishes, used Kleenex, and multiple cold remedies. There were two bed pillows and a couple of blankets on the leather sectional by the gas fireplace. Matt must have been camping out for several days.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asked.

“Last night, I think. Good thing Amazon Fresh delivers.”

“You. Sit down.”

Amy gave him enough of a push to let him know she meant business and adjusted the pillows behind his back when he collapsed onto the couch. She draped a blanket over him. He needed a shower, but he needed food and some orange juice first, if she guessed correctly.

“You’re going to feed me, right?”

She propped her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I’ll feed you, and then I’m going to yell at you. Why didn’t you call anyone to come and help?”

“I’ll be fine—” Matt was racked with a fit of coughing that scared the hell out of her. She shoved more tissues at him.

“How long has
that
been going on?” she cried out.

“It’s better than it was.” He lay back against the arm of the couch and threw one arm over his eyes. “Maybe I’ll cough up a lung.”

“Okay. You’re having something to drink, something to eat, and then we’re going to the doctor. Let me see if you have a fever. That cough sounds awful. I can’t believe you . . .” She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. He tried to brush it away.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated.

“Yeah, right. Don’t make me call your mother,” Amy threatened as she grabbed a plastic grocery bag off the table. She saw the ghost of a smile in response.

“Aww, Fifi. You care. How sweet.”

“I just don’t want you to die while I’m in your house.”

He let out something that sounded like the combination of a choke and a snort. She quickly cleared the crumpled tissues and napkins, shoving them into the plastic bag. She took the dishes into the kitchen and returned to him with a glass of orange juice.

“You need to drink this.”

“I’m tired,” he said.

“Too bad. Drink it.” She folded her arms and watched until he drained the glass. “Samantha said you were supposed to go to the father-daughter dinner at her school, but you were too sick.”

“Yeah.” The normally confident—hell, arrogant—Matt seemed to deflate a bit. “I hate missing any of her stuff. I would have just gone anyway, but if she’d gotten sick, too, I would have never forgiven myself.” He shook his head. “She’s growing up so fast. Pretty soon, it’ll be guys and cars. She won’t even want to be around her old man.”

“That can’t be true.”

“You don’t have a teenage daughter, do you?”

“No. I don’t. No kids.” Yet. Amy stifled a sigh as she felt another stab of pain. She wondered if she would ever have a kid, let alone a daughter of her own.

“How did you feel about your dad when you were fourteen? I couldn’t wait to be an adult. I love my mom, but she treated me like a baby.” His expression was wry.

“What about your dad?”

“He left when I was two. I was the man of the household.” Even in the dimness of early evening, she saw something pass over his face she couldn’t quite identify. The normally laughing, somewhat sardonic Matt didn’t want to discuss this. At all.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He glanced up at her. “Soup?”

“As fast as I can get it made.” He closed his eyes, and Amy readjusted the blanket over him. Maybe he’d sleep for a while.

The chicken noodle soup warmed on the stove while she loaded and started Matt’s dishwasher. She wondered how many other women had been in this kitchen before and whether or not they were dressed at the time. She couldn’t figure out why she was doing housework for a man she didn’t even know, but truthfully she was worried that he seemed so sick. The zillions of women he’d had in his life were, evidently, nowhere to be found. Shouldn’t they want to take care of him at a time like this? Maybe she was just an idiot.

She dug around in one of the kitchen drawers till she found a notepad and then started a shopping list—he’d need more tissues, more soup, and some bread. Finally she tiptoed back into the family room with the soup to find him fast asleep. He needed food, though. She put the bowl and spoon down on the coffee table and gently shook his shoulder.

“Matt. You need to eat.”

“Lemme sleep.”

“I’ll let you go right back to sleep after you eat something,” she coaxed.

“Sleep.”

“You have to eat,” she urged.

“Not hungry.”

He was talking in his sleep. He didn’t open his eyes.

Amy’s evening plans consisted of laundry, dishes, and watching the DVRed episode of some show she didn’t care that much about. She could stay with him for a little while, but then she absolutely had to go. She’d call his mom or something. His mom could get to his house in a taxi if he really needed her.

The only noises in Matt’s house were his soft snores and the ticking of the clock on the mantel over the fireplace. She knelt down next to him and touched his forehead once more. Dry and warm. He didn’t have a fever. He stirred a little, but didn’t wake up.

Amy grabbed the other blanket on the opposite end of the couch and hit the couch across from him.

M
ATT’S HOUSE WAS
dark when she awoke to a loud crash. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness enough, though, to note that the couch was empty, and so was the soup bowl. He’d gotten up.

“Matt?” She called out.

She pulled herself off the couch and glanced around. He wasn’t in the room, but she heard the shower running. Dread skittered up her spine. He might have passed out and hit his head. He wasn’t especially steady earlier from lack of food and whatever bug he had, so she hurried down the hallway to check on him.

Matt’s room was huge, dominated by a king-sized bed in a dark, curved wood frame with four posters. The bed was still neatly made. He probably hadn’t slept in it lately. The nightstands had the typical lamps and books. Amy’s gaze moved over the iPhone docking station that must have been next to the side he most often slept on. An overstuffed wingchair sat in one corner with clothing draped over it, and there was a bench at the foot of the bed; it all sat on a huge braided rug in shades of blue.

“Matt? Are you okay?” she called out again. No answer.

He’d left the door open. Steam billowed out of the bathroom. She would take a look, just to make sure he was fine. There was nothing wrong with that. It was the right thing to do.

Amy inched through the doorway. Matt’s bathroom was a masterpiece of high-end fixtures and surfaces. He, or the builder, had spared no expense on the granite countertops, tile flooring, beveled mirrors, cabinetry, and indirect lighting. The toilet had its own room, complete with padded bench. The shower was bracketed by a luxurious jetted tub, large enough for at least two people. Her feet froze to the floor. She was riveted, staring at the nude man standing in a clear glass double shower.

Matt looked like a statue she might see in a museum: long, lean, and bronzed from the sun. His arms and legs were covered with wet, silky-looking dark hair, and she saw a tan line on the wrist he wore a watch on. He braced his hand against the shower wall while the water cascaded over his head. It ran over flexing shoulder muscles, the ripple of muscles in his forearms and his biceps, down his back, over his butt and onward. Instead of realizing he was fine and leaving, her feet wouldn’t move. Maybe he hadn’t seen her.

“If you wanted to take a shower with me,” he called out, “all you had to do was ask.”

Amy’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me? I was making sure you didn’t drown yourself.”

“Let me know if that’s working for you.”

“I heard a crash. What did you think I should do?”

“I dropped the damn shampoo bottle,” he said.

He turned to face her. For one shocked moment, all she could do was stare. Run, she told herself. Just go.

“Come on in. The water’s fine,” he said.

Her feet unfroze from the floor. She ran out of the bathroom, down the hall, and scooped her purse up off the hall table. She wrenched the front door open, slamming it behind her. She threw herself into the driver’s seat of her delivery van, laying rubber as she drove away.

Amy glanced into the rear-view mirror. Matt stood in the middle of the street, wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist in the gathering darkness.

Chapter Seven

T
WO DAYS LATER
Amy shut herself inside her tiny office at the shop after locking the front door for the evening. Her brand-new brother-in-law, Brandon, was speaking at a fundraiser for Children’s Hospital tonight. The entire family had been invited to sit at his table. She looked forward to seeing her family, but she wished she wasn’t alone. Being lonely was bad enough. Being lonely in a room full of happy couples was miserable.

She spent all her time keeping her business afloat. She was great at business, but not so great in the dating and romance department. She realized she didn’t miss Brian as much as she missed the
idea
of him: someone to talk with and confide in, someone to laugh with. Then again, there wasn’t a lot of laughter toward the end of their relationship.

Maybe she needed a dog. They weren’t dazzling conversationalists, but they were loyal. They were cuddly. They didn’t break your heart.

She pulled a black jersey evening gown with a ruched waistline, scoop neck and cap sleeves over her head, brushed her hair into a sleek ponytail, applied some fire engine-red lipstick, and stepped into a pair of black patent leather flats. High heels and Amy were never friends. Right now, they weren’t even on speaking terms. She fastened a pearl bracelet around her wrist, added the matching earrings, and hurried to the delivery van. She threw a candy apple-red cashmere wrap onto the passenger seat.

Maybe she could talk the server at Brandon’s event into an extra dessert or something. After all, chocolate was the only cure for a broken heart. “Get over yourself,” she said aloud as she swerved around a BMW on the 520 Bridge crossing Lake Washington.

She arrived five minutes before the cocktail hour was due to start. Emerging from the driver’s side of a brightly painted delivery van in the valet parking area of one of the more posh hotels in moneyed Bellevue was sure to cause a few stares. This was no exception.

She handed her keys to the parking attendant who opened the van’s door. “Don’t scratch the paint,” she told him. He laughed.