Forward Pass. Desiree Holt
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here. In a minute the delicious scent of whatever soap she used tickled his nostrils and he sensed her behind him in the kitchen.
“Goodies? Besides the Chinese food?” She pounced on the bakery box on the counter. “Ohmigod! Is this what I think it is? Snickerdoodles?” She started to untie the ribbon.
“Uh-uh-uh.” Joe playfully slapped at her hand. “No dessert until you eat your dinner.”
“Then let’s get to it.” She pulled the big brown paper sack toward her and began removing the cartons of takeout. “What did you get?”
Joe was relieved to hear the casual, almost playful tone in her voice. She’d either decided to pretend last night never happened—bad—or was hopeful it would happen again. That was good, right? Right? He voted for option two.
When he turned to look at her he almost swallowed his tongue. Her hair, the color of corn silk, fell softly to her shoulders, framing her face. He wanted to fist his hands in it, let it sift through his fingers. White shorts cupped her sweet ass and she’d paired them with a T-shirt, the soft fabric the same deep blue as her eyes and draped gently over her breasts. Oh, God, were her nipples actually visible through the material? No makeup except some pink gloss slicked over her lips, but as far as Joe was concerned, she didn’t need anything else. Didn’t those lips just beg to be kissed? He had to stop himself from licking his own.
Shit. Kill me now.
He was in such big fucking trouble here. How the hell was he supposed to take things slow? How could he make time to establish a new relationship with this woman—and she most definitely was a woman, not a little girl—when just looking at her made him hot as a pistol and harder than steel?
Suck it up, he told himself and grabbed two of the cartons from her. He was anxious to have something to do with his hands before he put them all over her.
“Here, I’ll do that. Why don’t you get the plates and silverware?”
“What’s in this other bag?” She unrolled the flap on a white paper sack. “Ice cream?” She squealed like the little kid he remembered. “Cookies and cream. Yum, yum, yum.”
He took the sack away from her and shoved it in the freezer. “Like I said, dinner first. This is to ease the pain while I bore you with a bunch of football crap later.”
She cocked her eyebrow, giving him a quizzical look. “Boring? Football? You must have me confused with someone else.”
“Okay.” He chuckled. “It’s just not Joe Montana football.”
“I’ll suffer through it.” She turned away from him and busied herself with plates and silverware. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starved.”
Joe made sure to sit across from Shay at the table, not next to her. He needed to avoid touching her as much as possible. Put distance between them until he could figure this thing out. As it was, it took every bit of the discipline he’d learned playing football to look away from the way her T-shirt fabric caressed her breasts, the outline of her nipples visible beneath the soft material. His blood pulsed heavily through his veins, pressure building in his cock. He hoped if Shay noticed him drooling she’d think it was for the Chinese food. He gave thanks the table hid his ranging hard-on, which apparently appeared now whenever he was in her presence.
Conversation. They needed conversation. Anything to distract his body and his little head, which seemed to think it was in charge.
“Sorry New York turned out to be a bust for you.”
Shay speared a piece of orange chicken, popped it into her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. When she licked a drop of sauce from her lower lip Joe was afraid he’d combust right there at the table. The look she gave him reminded him they’d had this discussion before but he was desperate for a safe conversational topic. Anything that dropped a virtual ice cube in his pants and cooled him off.
“It was okay for a while. I had the big-city adventure and scored a fabulous job.” She shrugged. “The bloom just wore off quickly. Besides, I’m a Texas girl through and through.” Her voice was flat and uninflected.
Joe would give a lot to know what was really behind her decision to move back.
“So, no hot guys?” he teased. “No broken hearts left behind when you came home?” He made his voice as casual as possible.
Another bite of chicken. More chewing. Joe tried not to focus on the smooth play of muscles in her neck as she swallowed.
“None that you’d find interesting. They were all too sharp-edged. Too high energy, I guess. Too—” She waved her fingers in the air. “Too New York.”
Joe sensed an intense story behind her casual comments, but she sure wasn’t going to open up to him tonight over takeout.
“Besides,” she went on, “I get my fix of sidewalk hot-dog vendors and pizza by the slice when I go back for a few days of meetings.”
He frowned. “And that’s what New York is to you, hot dogs and pizza?”
She laughed, the now familiar musical sound that cut right into him. “I guess. Apparently I’m just not a city-slicker girl at heart. What about you? You like it? You’re living in Los Angeles now, right?”
“Actually I don’t live there anymore.” He scooped more fried rice onto his plate. “Too metrosexual for me. I guess I don’t like the city any better than you do.”
“So where are you living now?”
Hadn’t Hank told her? Exactly what information had her brother given her about him? More than that, did she even ask or show interest?
“Houston. Fox Sports has facilities there as well. And I like it much better than the West Coast.”
“But you flew in yesterday from New York,” she reminded him.
“Meetings on one of my endorsement contracts with a company rep and my agent.”
She studied his face, her eyes serious. “Forgive me if I’m stepping into forbidden territory, but does it bother you? Not being able to play again?”
Joe thought he’d gotten past those feelings pretty well until the little taste of bitterness surged in his throat. “I think I’ll always miss playing, but I’m lucky. My agent hooked me up with a terrific television contract and my bosses seem to be happy with me. We’re going into our fifth year and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight.”
“Unique name, Inside the Helmet. Good show, too.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You watch it?”
She flipped a hand casually. “When I get a chance.”
Alright! She watched his program. He gave a mental fist pump.
“Well, let’s clear this stuff away and you can help me watch some video for the earliest fall shows.”
“Me? Help you?” She laughed. “I don’t think anyone knows more about what’s in a quarterback’s head than you do, Mr. Hotshot Quarterback Joe Reilly.” The smile left her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease—”
“It’s okay. I’m past it.” Mostly. “Let’s do this.”
“What about dessert? I want my ice cream and cookies.”
“After the first video. A reward for your help.”
In the living room, Joe pulled a disk from his briefcase and slipped it into the DVD player. He picked up the remote, careful to take the recliner and leave the couch to Shay.
“So what’s up first?” she asked.
“The young quarterback for the San Antonio Mustangs, as a matter of fact. I’ll be doing a piece on him before the first preseason game. Maybe even analyzing their entire quarterback situation. We’ll see. I have some background work to do, but first