Page 58 of Sidelined By Love

I will, thank you very much.

“Did you want to come in?” Grant suddenly frowns. “The guys are here.”

“Guys?” I must sound like an idiot. But I can’t be expected to keep up with even the simplest conversation when I’m thinking about Grant’s touch. And kiss. And whatever is shimmering between us.

“Card. Ja’maar. A few of the O-line guys. We’re just grilling some steaks and—”

“Yo, Red! You got any more of those T-bones?”

Leaning to the side, I spot Ezra Jennings at the open door. Ja’maar Harlin right behind him.

Then suddenly, Ezra lets out a long, low whistle. It’s not a catcall or anything. More a sound of astonishment escaping. “Miss Peebles,” he calls with a quick nod of his head. “Didn’t know you were—” His surprise doesn’t stop him from striding toward us.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper for Grant only. “I should have called. You’re clearly busy. I was just out picking up Bronco from the groomer and thought I’d . . . well, you know.”

“Ask for another kiss?” His words are low, and I have to fight to keep my retort at the same volume.

“I never asked for the first one.”

“Debatable.” He gets it out just as Ezra and three of the biggest guys I’ve ever seen up close reach us. Grant seems to know exactly where they are on the grass—probably a byproduct of years together on the field. And before I can argue his very questionable assumption, he turns slightly toward them. “Guys, this is Zoe Peebles.”

“Duh.” Ezra says to his QB. For me, he has a straight white smile as he reaches out his hand to shake mine. I feel like a small child compared to all six foot four and two hundred and fifty plus pounds of him. “Miss Peebles.” There’s a sparkle in his brown eyes and a flirtatious tilt to his smile as he runs his hand through his cropped but slightly curly hair.

No wonder he’s known as the team Casanova.

“Zoe,” I say. “Please.”

“You can call me Card.”

“Not Ezra?” I ask.

“Nah.” Ja’maar claps in him on the shoulder. “Only his momma and his sister call him Ezra.”

And the TV announcers. But I’m not about to admit in front of Grant that I’ve watched a couple of their games.

There isn’t time for me to ask for further explanation of Card’s nickname as Grant quickly introduces me to the others. They’reall respectful, though I’m not blind. I see the questioning looks they shoot Grant’s way. He must see them too, but he deflects with ease.

Maybe I should be taking different lessons from him.

“Are you joining us for dinner?” Card asks.

“I shouldn’t. I just stopped by to—where’s Bronco?” I spin around looking for Nan’s missing companion, but I shouldn’t have worried. He’s sprawled in the last patch of sunlight across the lush green grass, ears flopped wide and hind legs bicycling through a dream.

“Bronco?” All of the guys stand up a little straighter.

“Down, boys.” Grant waves them off. “He’s old Mrs. Peebles’s dog.”

Card laughs, deep and throaty. “Figures. I get the feeling there’s no love lost between her and her son.”

“You’d be right about that,” I mumble.

“Then you have to stick around and tell us about it,” Ja’maar says, laying a loose arm over my shoulder and steering me toward the house.

A quick glance at Grant confirms that he wants me to stay, so I nod slowly. “Dinner, then I’m helping Kenna with her call-back.” Kenna beams as she runs up to join us, sliding her hand into mine. I give it two squeezes, and her grin manages to grow.

“Grant, will you—?” But as I glance over my shoulder, my heart flips in my chest. He’s already carrying a floppy dog toward the house with the same care he gives a football.

Nineteen

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