Page 10 of Nailing Heat
He chuckles. “Will do, sir.”
I feel a sense of relief that he agrees to my plan, and a burst of confidence in my professional skills, when he continues. “So, be at the facility at nine tomorrow morning, got it? You can meet the rest of the staff and the coaches. We can tell them together that the girls will be undergoing assessments again.” A bit of annoyance creeps in when he says that, but he pivots quickly. “Then you can join them on the sideline for the game.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine with it. Especially if they want to make sure the girls are healthy.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says to signal the end of our conversation.
I click off the line and sigh into the empty kitchen. Shaking my head, I make my way down the hallway. A door to my left opens and I feel a burst of damp heat escaping from bathroom. Amelia scurries out before I can alert her to my presence. She is wrapped in a towel and making a sprint to her bedroom.
But she slips, turning around to instinctively try to grab her towel, and it falters.
I can’t help it, I freeze. My eyes drink in the sight of her. Her skin is tanned, probably from being in the Tampa Bay sun for the past three months, I think. I don’t have time to contemplate the how long it would take to achieve the ideal shade of tan because my eyes are too busy checking out the flat stomach and swell of her breast. They’re full and look like they’d fit perfectly into my hands. My hands, which are itching to reach up and touch them. My mental exploration of her body is cut short by her screaming at me.
“What the fuck are you doing? Why are you staring at me, you asshole?!” Amelia shouts. “Do the gentlemanly thing and avert your eyes!” She is feverishly working to keep the towel from slipping down her body again.
Fuck!“I am so sorry, Amelia. It was reflex.” I want to reach up and smack my own self in the head right now. How could I tell her that?
“What are you, some kind of pervert? God, how can you stare at me like that? I feel like I should charge you or something for that look!”
My eyes find hers. She’s managed to cover herself again with her towel. “Why would you charge me?” My brow furrows in confusion.
“Because you got a freaking peep show!” she shouts at me like it’s obvious.
“It was hardly a peep show. I didn’t see that much.” Why did I say that? God, I’m making this worse.
“I think you saw enough.” She huffs and hurries into her room, slamming the door.
I decide that after making a complete and total ass of myself, the least I could do is cook her something for dinner. It’s game day tomorrow and while I was planning on having some instant mac and cheese while watching Netflix, a good meal for her is more important. I begin by cutting up veggies and all the fixings for tacos. It’s one of the only things I know how to make, and I really hope she’s a tacos girl.
The meal is almost completely ready when I hear her come around the corner.
“Hi,” I say, waving at her like an idiot.
“Hi,” she says timidly as she comes into the kitchen. She is wearing a long T-shirt that says Vasser, and a pair of legging shorts.
Amelia looks like a baby animal who is approaching me with extreme caution. It almost makes me chuckle, but she might scream at me some more, so I focus all of my energy into suppressing it.
“I’m cooking myself some dinner. Would you like some? Chicken tacos,” I tell her, gesturing towards the pan of seasonedmeat and the fixings of lettuce, cheese, guacamole and queso that are set on the counter. “I have some hard shells warming in the oven. But if you’re more of a tortilla girl, I can make that happen to.”
She chuckles and I watch her inhale the aroma of the kitchen. “I would really like that, actually.”
I let out a breath that I didn’t realize that I was holding. “Great, I’m really glad you agreed.”
“It smells amazing and honestly, I’m hungry, so I might as well,” she says in a tone that I want to say is teasing, but I don’t want to be too hopeful.
“Thank you. You can sit and I’ll have these plated up soon. Or you can do the toppings,” I offer awkwardly. I feel like we’re on a first date here, even though it’s far from it. I don’t know what to say to her and I’m afraid of making her angry again.
“I’ll make up my own; you don’t have to do that,” she begins, heading into the kitchen towards the food.
I take a step back, giving her a wide berth. “I feel like I should make up for earlier. I really am sorry. That’s not who I am.”
She nods. “I didn’t think so. Sorry, I’m still getting used to you being here. I need to remember to wear a robe or something.” I watch her cheeks flush a bit as she says the words.
She’s so cute. I want to walk over and pull her into a hug and tell her that I’m glad we’re putting this behind us. But I don’t. I don’t do anything other than watch her get her tacos ready. It makes me grin that she makes up three. I prepare my own plate and head over to the table to join her. With me I bring two bottles of water.
“Oh, thank you, but I have a water in the door,” she says, gesturing back towards the fridge.
“I know, but this is flavored. Do you like kiwi strawberry?” I ask her.
