Page 47 of I'm Your Guy
Besides, my current obsession is a red-haired designer, and he’s miles away in Colorado.
But it’s weird to think that I could do it. There’s literally nothing stopping me.
Except everything.
* * *
Three days later, the team jet touches down at the Rocky Mountain International Airport. From there, it’s only fifteen miles home to Boulder. After a three-game road trip, I’m feeling every single one of them.
Can’t wait to get out of this suit, but I was so eager to leave the airport that I forgot to remove my tie before I started the drive home.
I finally pull onto my street at about six p.m. A Bob’s Denver Bedrooms truck is leaving my driveway, and my house isn’t dark, like usual. It’s all lit up inside. And there’s a lit Christmas wreath on the front door, too.
Wow. It looks like a home now. Not an empty shell.
I ditch the car in the carport, grab my suitcase, and hasten toward the front door, which is unlocked. When I step inside, I almost don’t recognize the place. The sofa has arrived, along with a leather chair. And there’s a sturdy coffee table that looks vaguely familiar, too. I have a distant memory of Carter showing me a photo and saying it was made from “reclaimed hardwood,” whatever that means.
At the time, I’d thought it sounded dirty.
But now—like everything else he’s chosen—it looks like it belongs here in front of the fire that’s crackling away behind a new iron fire screen. Ditto the tidy woodpile stacked in a metal holder beside the fireplace. And the set of fireplace tools on the opposite side.
A fire in the fireplace? My mother will love it.
I love it, too. As a matter of fact, the room looks so comfortable that I want to hurl myself at the couch and never get up again.
“Is that you, Jersey?” Carter appears in the doorway to the kitchen. He stops there, and I watch his gaze sweep me from head to toe.
His lips part softly and, in real time, I watch his cheekbones flush with color. Then his gaze goes heavy-lidded and lazy.
Oh Jesus. That look. It makes my body tighten. “Hi,” I say stupidly.
Carter blinks and seems to snap back into his senses. “Hi,” he says briskly, clapping his hands together. His words tumble out at top speed. “Nice suit. Wow. Long day, right? Sorry to be, uh, in your space, but they just delivered your mom’s bed. Want to see?”
I try to take that in. “Um, yeah. Let me just get out of this suit.”
Carter swallows, and his color deepens. “You go ahead and do that.”
Damn, my fireplace must be good at its job, because it’s suddenly about a million degrees in here. “I’ll just be a minute. Would you mind if I order some dinner? Kind of starving. You want something?”
His mouth opens and closes a couple of times. “Okay, yeah. I have some things to show you anyway.”
Like what? My dumb brain offers up a few very improper suggestions. “Great.”
“Tell you what, I’ll order something for us both,” he says. “What do you want?”
You. I literally shake myself. “Um… Burgers? Chicken? I eat everything, so long as it’s not too spicy. Use my credit card.”
“Cool. I’ll handle it.” He gives me a strangely sheepish look and heads back into the kitchen.
I take a deep breath and then carry my suitcase upstairs to change.
There are more surprises up here, too. The platform bed—my favorite choice from Carter’s video—stands proudly in my room. It’s freshly made up with crisp sheets in a blue-and-white striped pattern. There’s also a new comforter in navy-blue corduroy.
To top it off, a throw pillow is propped in the center of the bed. The color is Cougar blue, and the decorative stitching reads: EITHER YOU LIKE HOCKEY OR YOU’RE WRONG.
My shout of laughter probably shakes the house.
Still chuckling, I strip off my tie, my dress shirt, and my suit. I grab a pair of joggers out of my suitcase and pull them on. I’m just yanking a T-shirt over my head when my phone rings.
