Page 52 of Hello Quarterback

Farrah’s jaw dropped open, and her voice rose an octave. “You had sex with him?!”

I shook my head, made a V with my fingers, and waggled my tongue in between them.

She nearly spit out her wine with laughter, and I giggled.

“I was not expecting that gesture from you. Sounds like it was... well-received?” she asked.

“Extremely.” My thighs were already clenching at the memory, wishing we could do that, and more, all over again.

“So it started fake and turned real,” she said. “What’s the issue?

“It started fake, and the lines have blurred. And then, get this.” I downed the rest of my wine, opened my phone to the messages from him, and passed it to her.

Her eyes tracked left to right like pinballs as she read the words, her lips slowly settling into a smile. “Mia, this is great! He likes you!”

My eyebrows drew together. “Did you miss the part where he said it would be great for this stupid show we’re putting on?”

Farrah rolled her eyes. “He’s really doing some mental gymnastics to keep his heart from getting involved. Did he say he’s been through a breakup or something?”

“I think he’s afraid of dying young, because of his mom. He feels like the team and his charity have to come first.”

Farrah shook her head. “I get that. But you’re not exactly a needy girlfriend. I couldn’t picture you begrudging him putting work first.”

I nodded. “That’s what I told him.”

“And?”

I held up the V again and waggled my tongue.

This time, wine dribbled down her chin when she laughed. “Damn you, Mia.” She picked up the hem of her shirt to wipe her chin.

I giggled, loving that I could be my real self around her.

With a smile, she said, “So what are you doing here? That flight leaves in a few hours.”

“It’s a bad idea, to go for a man who isn’t emotionally available.”

“It might be.” She shrugged. “But it could be a good idea to spend a weekend with a man good at...” She made the gesture.

I snorted out a laugh. But she had a good point. Ford may have lost control with me.

But I’d done the same with him.

And if it was all going to end in flames, I’d bring the s’mores.

I pressed the intercom on the desk linking me to Vanover. “Hey, Van?”

“Yes, Wino. I mean, boss?”

I rolled my eyes at Farrah and smiled. “Have my stylist pack a weekend bag for me. I’m going to Brentwood.”

“Yes!” he cried.

I gave him a confused look through the window. Then it dawned on me. “You were listening in, weren’t you?”

“Just doing my job.” There was a smile in his voice. “Your car—and bag—will be ready in an hour.”

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