Page 13 of Blitzing Emily

“Your head wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t yell,” he said solicitously, wagging his finger. He seemed to be using Emily’s last nerve as a trampoline. The only thing that saved him at that moment was the fact she preferred staying out of prison.

“I could pay your cab fare back to your car, and you can go wherever you’d like,” she pointed out.

His dimple flashed as he gave her an unrepentant grin. “That’s not going to work for me.”

He got to his feet, pulled her cordless phone off its base, and wandered into the kitchen. Emily wondered if he was always this exasperating. She should have walked over to the front door, pulled it open, and ordered him out, but she knew she probably wouldn’t be able to stand up that long.

He returned to the living room a few minutes later with a soda for her and a beer for himself. She wasn’t watching football anymore.

“I can’t believe you changed the channel,” he informed her in mock outrage. “This is a chick flick.”

“It’sPride and Prejudice. That’s Colin Firth.” Emily pointed at the television. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Colin Firth is.”

Brandon looked adorably confused. “Maybe he played for the Canadian Football League.”

“No. He’s a classically trained actor.”

Now it was his turn to rub his face with both hands. She heard him muttering something almost unintelligible that contained the phrases “women,” “Valentine’s Day,” and “girly men with lace sleeves.”

“He’s the definitive Mr. Darcy, you know.”

“Definitive. What the fu—” He sent one hand through his mop of blond curls like he wanted to pull them out by the fistful. “My ex-girlfriend used to try to get me to watch this crap. Let’s watch something on the Speed Channel. Nowthere’ssome good television.”

She let out a groan. “Nonstop Darwin Awards contestants are more valuable than a literary classic to you?”

He glared at her. One eyebrow went up.

“Make fun of me all you want, Opera Girl. I’m doing this for your own good.” Emily realized she would have to take up professional wrestling to recover control over her TV, and she was too hungry to keep squabbling with him at the moment. He clicked through channels at lightning speed. He settled on the NFL Network again. “Pizza is on its way. You can thank me later.”

“Let me give you some cash.” She tried to rise from the couch. He pulled her back down by one elbow.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” He gestured toward the television. “Listen and learn, sugar. First of all, these are the special teams guys. They’re the toughest guys on any football team. They have no fear of giving up the body.”

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.”

“Watch the guy at the back, by the end zone. He wants to run to the opposing end zone, so he can score. All those guys want to rip his head off and shi— They want to stop him.”

Emily watched a bunch of guys jump on the guy with the ball, grinding his face into the grass. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to care. Maybe it wasn’t as painful as it looked.

“He just got up and ran away.”

“He made it to the forty. He’s the man.”

“They were trying to hurt him.”

“Okay. Here comes the offense.”

Brandon spent the next hour attempting to explain the intricacies of the NFL, and its endless rules to Emily. He was surprisingly patient. His tutorial was interrupted by the arrival of food, which he wouldn’t allow Emily to pay for.

“There’s cash in my wallet,” she argued.

“And your point would be?”

“I can at least buy your dinner. You brought me home.”

“Maybe other guys will let you do that, but I won’t.”

After only a few bites of pizza, Emily leaned back against the couch. Her eyelids drooped. He took the plate out of her hand.

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