Page 37 of Blitzing Emily

“You call me sugar,” she said.

“That’s different. You smell sweet as sugar. I’ll bet you taste good, too.” He leaned toward her, and his breath brushed her cheek.

“You smell like mint,” Emily murmured. She brushed her palms over her jeans-clad thighs. Mint and a delicious, male scent unique to Brandon she knew she’d never forget.

He leaned toward her again. “I know it’s a lot to ask”—his lips were a fraction of an inch from her ear—“but someday, you’ll kiss me, won’t you?” She felt the heat rising in her face. Suddenly she was speechless; all she could do was nod. “That’s good.”

He rose, rifled through the menus on Emily’s counter, and pulled one from the pile. He dropped into the chair next to her again. Even slouched in a kitchen chair, he was graceful.

“We’ve already agreed on the cashew chicken,” he said. “What else might you like to eat?”

It didn’tmatter.Her heart was still ba-ba-bumping around in her chest, her palms were sweaty, she was inappropriately warm, and her toes curled in her shoes. Would she ever kiss him? He might be shocked if she did it now. Maybe she should wait thirty seconds or so. After all, she wouldn’t want to seem desperate.

Emily shrugged her shoulders, and attempted to look bored. “Whatever you’d like is fine.”

“Fried rice, moo shu pork. How about some soup? I like that egg flower stuff.”

“It’s all great. Really.” She was still trying to regain her composure, and he was acting like nothing had happened.

“So, dinner, maybe we can watch a movie, and then we’ll hit the sack.”

“You don’t need to spend the night. I’m fine.”Inside voice, she told herself.

“Of course I’m sleeping here.”

BRANDON BEAT HERto the door a half hour later. The tabletop was quickly festooned with white cardboard take-out containers, and they sat down to enjoy the feast.

“Would you like more fried rice?” she asked him, wielding the serving spoon.

“Yes. Thank you.” Emily spooned more onto his plate, and he nodded. “Keep going. By the way, you seem to be wearing some hoisin sauce.”

She glanced at the front of her sweater and let out a groan.

“Oh, no. I can’t eat anything without making a mess.”

“It’s only me.” he said, obviously trying to reassure her she wasn’t as clumsy as she thought. “It looks like I spilled some, too. What a shame.” He dribbled a bit of sauce on his polo shirt. “See? Not so bad.”

“Here. Let me wash it. The stain might not come out.” She reached around the table for the hem of his shirt.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s finish our dinner,” Brandon said. She reached up to brush a few grains of rice off his shirt. “Thanks. So, what’s on your mind?”

“How did your meeting go today?”

“They’re thinking about making a trade or two before the NFL draft, so there was some discussion about the positions the team might want to strengthen. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Do you usually have meetings when you’re not playing games?”

“There are a lot of guys who live here year round. We all practice together. The ones that don’t are usually talking to the other guys on cell phones or via Twitter, so they can chime in if they’d like.” He propped his chin in his hand. “How’d it go with Amy, and when am I going to meet her?”

“Amy’s business is a little nuts right now. We might be able to get together when I’m done with my performances in Seattle.” By the time her performances were over, the engagement would be over, too. He didn’t seem to realize this. Maybe that was best.

“I would like that. My parents would like to meet you, too.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? If we’re not going to be together that long, it’s not really necessary.”

His expression was implacable.

“My parents will still want to meet you. I want to meet your folks, and I want to meet Amy. This isn’t open for negotiation.”

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