Page 16 of Playing the Field
“I’d roast and puree that celery root and put that on the plate as a base. Add some arugula and a mustard vinaigrette—I’ll text you the recipe. Don’t mess with the salmon too much, just put it on the coals in foil with some maple butter… Grill the squash and add some lentils…”
She rattles off the recipes as though she’s had a week to prepare. I make a few notes on my phone while she talks and divide the ingredients into piles.
I tell her I love her and promise to call once my contract is finalized, so she can give Betsy all the details.
“Love you, Boo.” My mom clicks away before I can protest a nickname no one else could get away with. I set to work chopping, dicing, and pureeing, then rifle through Kyler’s cabinets for dishes and silverware to set the table outside.
It’s not an attempt to curry more favor with our new research analyst or stoke some long-simmering heat into a flame. If Iwanted sex, there are plenty of women who’ve made it clear they’re available. I’m not interested.
I merely want to thank her for whatever she saw in her spreadsheets that saved my job. I hate owing anyone anything, and this will make me feel like we’re even. A simple dinner with a bunch of options to make sure there’s something she likes. This is normal, good roommate behavior. It has nothing to do with buried feelings I’ve had for my friend’s sister for nearly half my life.
Yes, I said it.
Gracie rocked my world back when I was a freshman scrub on the varsity team, and all I could do was flex and grunt in her family’s kitchen in an attempt to impress her. Small wonder I failed.
That woman is head and shoulders beyond me in intellect, not to mention the beauty she tries to keep buried under layers of clothes. I’d find it adorable if it didn’t frustrate me so goddamn much. The other night, I could barely keep from reaching out and running a hand up the milky skin of her legs in those little shorts of hers. Since then, I’ve only seen her in work clothes, which is just as well.
And now that I’ve given the thought a little room to breathe, I shove it back down where it belongs.
One dinner. Two old friends are eating because it’s a human necessity. Basically, I’m keeping her alive. Starvation would be rude. No reason to make anything more of one dinner.
Then we’ll go back to our separate worlds and our separate lives.
CHAPTER 9
Gracie
The only thingmy brain can acknowledge is the phenomenal smell coming from the deck of my brother’s house. It won’t let me detour or even put my purse down before following the scent out to the back patio, where a ribbon of smoke heads toward the dusky blue sky.
It’s probably Hunter trying to impress a date, and I should leave them alone. But the delicious smell of roasting chicken beckons me forward, and I have no choice but to follow.
I feel slightly relaxed after the half glass of wine I had with my new analytics team. “It’s tradition,” Mick Eldrige told me, grinning as he hung in the doorway of my office. “We’re all chuffed to have you here.”
Mick joined the Devils two seasons ago from Manchester City, and he’s my number two. I’m relying on him to keep me abreast of insider club knowledge, so if drinks with him and our four-person team is tradition, it’s tradition.
It meant I stayed near headquarters later than I expected, but with Kyler out of town, I didn’t think anyone would notice. I didn’t see the team on the practice field when I left, so I figured they were in the dining facility or doing whatever players do in the evenings.
When I slide open the screen door, I find Hunter fanning the smoke with an oven mitt shaped like a trout with mascara on its eyelashes. With his other hand, he bosses around a couple of chicken breasts on the grill, along with what looks like a steak, squash, and something in a foil pouch.
I glance around the deck for the woman I’m certain I’ll find lounging on a chaise with a glass of wine in her hand. She’ll have manicured nails, expertly applied makeup, and hair worthy of a social media video. Of course, he’s allowed to entertain here. He’s a guest in his best friend’s house, and Kyler would definitely approve of Hunter enjoying himself.
But I see only two empty chaise lounges with blue striped cushions and three chairs around the wooden table.
“You cooking for someone?” I raise my voice so he’ll hear me over Taylor Swift’sRedalbum. I want to make sure he knows I’m here before he inadvertently trots a scantily clad date out here, and I feel mortified.
When he turns, I notice the green apron over his Devils practice tee and a pair of athletic shorts. I know this is Southern California, and the weather’s nice all the time, but the man never seems to cover much of his body. That’s only a problem because I seem to have no control over my eyes, which run the length of his legs two or three times, committing each muscle group to memory.
Seriously, you’d think I’ve never seen a man’s legs before.
But these are spectacular in a way I’m unfamiliar with—large, strong quads and well-developed calves that practically scream their need for speed. But Hunter seems to be in no hurry,methodically turning the chicken and meat over before he points the spatula in my direction.
“Nope. Cooking for you.”
Some sort of garbled combination of nonsensical vowels spews forth, and he waits until I regain control, a smirk forming on his lips.
“You’re…what?” I think I heard the words, but a synapse must have misfired in my brain.
“Cooking dinner. For you.” He looks at me expectantly, but then he seems to notice the two bowls and one platter already on the round, wood table nearby on the deck. “And me, obviously.”
