The Trouble With Quarterbacks - R.S. Grey Page 0,106
Aren’t they, Pookie?” Jay says.
Pookie?!
Kat blushes and nods in agreement.
There’s another knock on the front door, and Kat squeals. “That’ll be Candace!”
She hurries to answer it, and I lean forward.
“Jay, man…do you need help? Blink twice if you want me to call the police.”
He only laughs and shakes his head as if I couldn’t possibly understand how happy and in love he is.
I hear voices in the hall and turn to watch Candace walk in wearing a short sky blue dress and flats. Her blonde hair is down and straight, and her eyes seem to be even brighter than usual.
“What’s with the personalized doormat out front?” she asks Kat. “It has your name on it and everything.”
“Oh yes. Sweetums got me that for our anniversary.”
“Anniversary?” Candace asks with a confused frown.
“Yes. Our one-week.”
“Oh jeez. You’ve gone absolutely mad. And wait, did I just hear you say Sweetums?”
Candace finally notices me in the kitchen and stops dead in her tracks.
I smile.
She narrows her eyes.
I walk toward her and she stays stock-still, peering up at me skeptically as I approach.
“Hi Candace. You look lovely.”
I bend down to kiss her cheek, and she sucks in an audible breath.
“Logan. Hello. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“Surprised?”
“More than a little.”
“You look better. Did you have that doctor’s appointment today?”
I look down and see that the bandage covering her hand is gone and there’s a small Band-Aid in its place, where the cut must still be healing.
“Yes, but of course, you know that.”
“Pookie, could you come help me pour the wine?” Jay asks.
Kat skitters away, and Candace scrunches her face.
“Pookie?” she mouths at me.
“Don’t ask.”
“Did you see the doormat?” she whispers.
“I missed it.”
“Make sure you look on the way out. It’s totally whacko!” she continues, keeping her voice down. “Have they fallen off the deep end?”
There’s a groan of pleasure behind us, and we both turn to see Jay spooning some potatoes into Kat’s mouth while she flutters her eyes in ecstasy.
“Oh, blech,” Candace groans. “I’ve totally lost my appetite.”
“That’s fine. Let me take you on a quick tour while they finish dinner.”
“I don’t think I want—”
I’m already taking her purse from her and setting it on the couch. Then I push her down the closest hallway, shouting back at Kat and Jay, “We’ll be right back! I just want to show Candace your view, Jay.”
“Cool, man. Dinner will be ready in about ten.”
“All right, easy there,” Candace says once we’re walking down the hall. “Sheesh, you haven’t got to push me around like that. I’ll call one of my bodyguards and have them come up here if I have to.”
“I gave them the evening off since you’ll be with me.”
“Oh my gosh. The arrogance! How do you manage to fit that big head of yours into a football helmet? I’m surprised your brain doesn’t explode out of the sides.”
I laugh at the visual and prod her along.
She looks so hot in her dress, and now that I know she’s healed up, I don’t feel so guilty about the plans I have for us.
We reach a door at the end of the hallway and I push it open. It’s Jay’s lounge, where a group of us usually gathers to watch basketball and golf. It has sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows covering the side wall, showcasing an expansive view of New York City.
Candace gasps. “Oh, wow. You weren’t kidding about the view! Look at it.”
“Yeah, it’s great,” I say, sounding bored as I turn her away from the windows so she’s facing me instead of them.
“What are you doing?” she asks hurriedly. “Don’t kick the door shut!”
Too late.
“Are you still mad at me?” I ask, tightening my hold on her waist as I start to walk us backward.
“What?” Her blue eyes widen in alarm. “Yes! Of course.”
She looks panicky, like she’s trying to figure out some way to bolt.
I bend down and kiss her cheek, gathering her close. “Are you still mad at me?” I ask again, this time quietly against the shell of her ear.
“I suppose…yes…”
Her voice has turned soft and less convincing.
I move lower, letting my mouth fall to the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, right beside the thin strap holding up her dress. Then I kiss her there before repeating my question.
“I… Maybe we could talk it over…” she answers.
“I don’t feel like talking.”
We have ten minutes, and I haven’t touched her in a week. I’m going crazy. Pretty soon I’ll be ordering her personalized doormats and calling her Pookie.