He swore he could draw a full breath for the first time in months.
“But since you mention it, why would you go all the way to Maui just for a couple of days?”
He loved that teasing tone. “Reasons that can only be shared over whatever it is you’re cooking.”
“Oh, no. That’s impossible. This recipe’s top secret.”
“What if I offer my seasoned palette? I can let you know if what you’re making tastes any good.”
“Why would I need someone to tell me what I already know?” She turned and headed back inside.
She’d left the door open, which he took as an invitation, and followed her in.
What a crazy night. First, the offer to have his own cooking show and now—out of nowhere—the woman he’d been searching for since the plane’s wheels hit the tarmac.
Okay, cool, I found her…now what do I want? His gait faltered. He wasn’t all that into hookups, and after a failed marriage, he was absolutely not getting into another relationship any time soon—especially with Tyler Cavanaugh’s daughter.
Worse, I’m still a Maverick. Still Cassian’s backup.
I’m not banging his future sister-in-law.
And yet…there he was, closing and locking the door behind him, following her down a hallway. He passed an employee bathroom, an office, and a storage room, before entering a cluttered, well-used kitchen.
With her bounty of shiny, dark hair hanging loose past her shoulders, Lulu stood at a gleaming stainless steel counter chopping shallots. She scraped the onion into a skillet with melted butter. When it sizzled and steamed, she lowered the flame. “Welcome to the inner sanctum. Now, what’s up with Maui? You spent as much time in the air as you did on the sand.”
“You’re not familiar with small talk, are you?”
“Says the man whose opening line was about me lying to my family.”
He’d wrestled with whether to bring that up for a while, finally falling on the side of respect. He’d want to know if a roomful of people knew something personal about him. He stuttered out a laugh. “Yeah, about that. When I was in high school, I fought with my girlfriend under the bleachers before a game. For days after, everyone kept looking at me funny. I couldn’t figure out why, until I found out that some of her friends had heard the whole thing. It was like walking around with a stain on your jeans, and no one bothering to tell you about it.”
“What was the fight about?”
He gave her a look that said, Really?
“Oh, come on. You witnessed my most embarrassing moment. You can give me something.”
“She accused me of hitting on some other girl, and when I didn’t deny it, she got all worked up.”
“Did you hit on some other girl?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you just say that?”
“Because I needed to be in the locker room with my team.” Was that why? It was so long ago. “I was the quarterback.”
“Weak. What’s the real reason?”
“How’s that weak?”
“If the person you love feels threatened, you reassure them.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Fair. Okay, well, I was also sick of her jealousy, but I didn’t need to discuss it at that moment. In any event, that’s why I decided to tell you. I knew you’d be around the guys all summer, and I thought you should know.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She stirred the onions. “So, how’s the weather?”
He chuckled. “Forget it. I think we can agree we both suck at polite conversation.”
“Small talk is an unsharpened blade. It’s cat hair on a black fleece jacket. It’s bits of sand in a bouillabaisse.” She measured port wine and poured it into the skillet, and then did the same with red wine. “So, Maui?”
She had a way of moving—he couldn’t explain it—but it was deliberate, sexy…mesmerizing. “That was just optics.”
“I don’t know what that means.” She lowered the flame even more, then turned to rest her back against the counter. “But I’m pretty sure you didn’t have an ophthalmology appointment in Maui…so?”
He chuckled. “No. It was a team thing.”
She cut him a look. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I mean, if it’s some super-secret football thing a chef could never understand, we could just go back to the weather.”
“No, it’s just…career shit.”
“Okay.” Her tone held no judgment whatsoever, but she reached for something that looked like demi-glace and poured a cup into her sauce. She dipped a finger into the mixture and brought it to her mouth. Her tongue licked the tip, and he felt a punch of lust in his cock.
Fuck, he wanted her attention back. And he knew the only way to get it was to be on her level.
He wasn’t used to that. His ex cared about superficial things, like how she looked, décor, manners. She was intelligent, fun, lively, charming...but she didn’t get deep. He’d been fine with that for a long time—he’d been too focused on the draft, on rehabbing his injury, on training—
Actually, come to think of it, he’d never wanted more until he met Lulu.
He moved closer. “Can this be just between the two of us?” Given that both her parents and older sister were celebrities, he knew she’d understand discretion.
“Absolutely.” Tucking the long bangs that kept falling across her cheek behind her ear, she watched him with concern.
“My contract’s up in June. I don’t…” He let out a rough exhalation. “I don’t know if I’ll get a new one.”
“Because of what happened during the playoffs?”
“Yes.” Of course she’d seen it. She comes from a football family. “And my agent thinks hanging around my teammates sends a subliminal message.”
“I’m pretty sure coaches don’t make decisions based on that.”
He appreciated her honesty more than he could say. “No, I don’t think so either.”
“Is it awful to be around them when you don’t know if you’re going to be on the team?”
Wow. No one would ever be so blunt—not even his family.
It surprised him just how much he needed to expose those dark, shadowy fears. “Yes. I’m a backup, so I’ve always been an outsider, but now? The decision might already be made, and they just haven’t told my agent yet.” His heart pounded, and he scrubbed his jaw with a hand. “I might not be a Maverick.”
“That’s awful. No wonder you wanted to be anywhere but there.”
I wanted to be with you. “Yeah.” Those eyes—they were so damn expressive. He could feel her concern, her empathy. “The problem is…it’s out of my control.” Jesus, now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “I can train, and I can eat right and get enough sleep and perform my best on the field…but I can’t make anyone offer me a contract.”
“And it’s not like you even want to be a backup. You’d rather lead your own team.”
“Exactly.” Frustration bore down on him. Nothing was in his control.