Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,24

glad he never mentioned the dog during his exam or I would have thought Jude lost his damn mind. I pointed to the dalmation.

“He’s just a dog,” I said.

“I’m not entirely sure he knows that.”

“Does he know where he put my purse?”

Jude frowned at his buddy. “I’ll probably find it buried in my pillows. That’s where most everything ends up. Forks. Bones. My ties. A football. One time I found a copy of War and Peace.” His eyebrows rose. “I don’t own any hardbound books. He must have stolen it from the lobby or something. The least he could have swiped was a Playboy.”

“Man’s best friend, huh?”

“Anyway, I’ll get your purse…unless you want to leave it in my bedroom?”

“Leave it?”

“Yeah. It’s up to you. You can sleep wherever you want.”

My mouth dried. I tried not to envision Jude in his bed, sheet lazily tucked along his side, his thick biceps tensed behind his head.

“I could take your bed?” I licked my lips.

“If you wanted.”

“I…I had no idea that’s what you wanted.”

I regretted not packing anything slinkier than cotton panties to wear for bed. Not that my nighttime retainer wasn’t sexy, but I’d throw the damn thing away for him. My teeth could move a millimeter if Jude moved heaven and earth around me.

“Sure, if you want to take the master bedroom, I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

Oh.

The guest room.

Right. How…civilized.

I needed a time out to get familiar with his shower head if I was going to make it through any more conversation.

“Excellent.” I faked a smile. “The guest room is fine. No problem there.”

Jude nodded, ringing the last bit of water from his hair. He caught me staring, but he looked shamed instead.

“Sorry,” he said.

He didn’t have to apologize for going shirtless. I should have expressed my gratitude instead.

“I did a little cardio after practice,” he said. “I’m trying to make sure I’m in shape. Only four weeks left before the start of the season, and…I’m not a young guy anymore.”

“You’re thirty-three.”

“There’s dog years, and then there’s running back years. I’m old as hell compared to the rest of the league. I get on the field, and I’m tempted to yell at the rookies to keep off the grass.”

“None of that matters if you feel good.” I masked the question with another glance around his apartment. “No problems on the field? Headaches? Sensitivity to light or sound?”

“Okay, Doctor Merriweather. I get the point.”

I pointed to the oversized windows framing the city of Ironfield. The penthouse faced the knotted rivers and parks which bordered downtown—a lovely view…except for the blackout curtains tucked along the side of the glass.

Jude shrugged. “I needed something to block the light after my concussion, trying to stave off the headaches. But they’re cleared up now.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. The drapes moved with me. Just needed to hang something up.”

In a completely furnished apartment, he hung garish blackout curtains. Uh-huh. It was a damn good thing I was here. I knew Jude too well. He was hiding more about his injury than he let on. At least now I could watch over him.

All of him.

Shirtless. Dripping. Smiling.

“I should give you a tour,” he said. “This place has a wonderful view.”

I followed him through the hall, studying his impressive form. I’d love six months of that view.

Jude led me to his kitchen, a gorgeous quartz-filled work of art, fully loaded with every stainless steel appliance I’d make into a mess, a walk-in pantry the size of my bedroom, and an arched eat-in patio that lead to a lovely balcony.

“Wow, this is…” I buzzed my lips. “Impressive. I worked through med school with a hot plate and a pack of Ramen noodles. I don’t know what I’ll do without a shower and toilet in the corner like in my studio apartment.”

“The architect didn’t have an eye for efficiency.”

“I can sacrifice a few creature comforts for luxury.”

“You’ll sacrifice nothing.” Jude led me through the rest of the penthouse, pointing out the rooms. “Living room, gym, study, and…” He led me to my bedroom. “Your private space. It’s yours. You can do whatever you want with it.”

I studied the bedroom, marveling at the snow-white poster bed and walk-in closet. “Wow. I wasn’t that mad at you for spilling the beans.”

“I was serious when I said I wanted to help.”

I tested the bed. The mattress didn’t immediately cave in the middle like the fifteen-year-old bundle of dust I’d been using.

“You are helping,” I said. “Now if we can just make people believe we’re a