I nod, jumping in and helping. I rinse, while Brock places the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. At least twice, our fingers touch as I hand over the item. Eighteen-year-old me would get all flustered and excited, while twenty-five-year-old me is just rolling her eyes.
No way will I ever act on any attraction with an athlete, especially not a football player. Did you know the divorce rate for a professional athlete is sixty-to-eighty percent? I googled that when I was ten and overheard things like alimony and infidelity thrown around like candy when my dad’s second marriage failed. I watched women come in and out of his life in a revolving-door manner for years, and that was just his side of the genetics coin. My mom was worse, always looking for her next payout.
Yeah, there’s no way I’d ever let myself get caught up in the hype.
Public relationships rarely work out.
Especially with football players.
CHAPTER
THREE
Brock
I can sense that she wants to talk to Caleb, and she doesn’t want me to witness it. I get it. He’s her brother, and she trusts him. There is something in her eyes… a sadness, maybe? I can’t really describe it, but I know she’s not my Sunshine. Well, she’s not mine, but you know that. I mean, she’s not her usual happy-go-lucky self. Even when younger and blushing in the elevator, there was still this light about her.
Standing here, helping her wash dishes, is torture. Torture because Josephine Henderson is a fucking knockout. Her long dark hair, eyes that remind me of chocolate, and a body made to bring a man like me to his knees. If I had to guess, she’s about a foot shorter than my six-foot-four, and maybe a buck twenty? She’s tiny compared to me, and I have this urge to scoop her up in my arms just because I can. She’d give me hell for it, I’m sure. She’s not the only one who would give me hell. I’m sure if Caleb knew the thoughts racing through my mind about his little sister, he’d kick my ass. Not that I blame him.
“Thank you again for your help. You really didn’t have to.”
“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. Dishes is the least I can do for a home-cooked meal.” I’m not just being nice. The food was incredible. A vision of coming home to her and her cooking every night flashes through my mind. I shake out of my thoughts. I don’t know what the hell that’s about, but I’m not going there. Not with her.
“Yeah, unlike my brother,” she says just as Caleb enters the kitchen. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and his hair is still wet from his shower.
“Hey, I was being productive.” He points at his sister. “You and I need to chat, and I thought you’d appreciate me not smelling like a locker room.”
“Ew, Caleb. Did you not shower after practice?” Joey wrinkles her nose, and it’s cute as hell.
“Always do, but it’s never the same as showering at home.”
I nod. “He’s got a point. In fact, I think I’ll do that myself. Joey, thanks again for dinner.” I wait for her to look at me, just to get one more glimpse at those big brown eyes before I retreat to my room, giving the siblings some time. “I’ll see your ugly mug bright and early,” I tell Caleb as I walk past him for the stairs.
After a quick shower, I’m sliding under the covers and staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. Life has been a tornado of events the past several weeks, and I can’t help but feel as though there are more changes to come. Something in my gut tells me that me being traded wasn’t the only way my world is going to be shaken. I can’t explain why I feel this way, only that I do.
After twenty minutes of staring at nothing, I grab my phone from the nightstand and scroll through the local real estate listings. I’m not in a huge rush to find a place, but at the same time, I wonder if I will ever feel settled if I don’t. I know buying a home during the season isn’t the ideal situation, but if I find my dream home here in Kansas City, then I can’t pass it up.
Nothing stands out at me after an hour of searching, and I know if I don’t get my ass to sleep, I’m going to be dragging at practice in the morning. Placing my phone back on the charger, I close my eyes and eventually drift off to sleep.
I’m up and dressed for practice before Caleb, so I decide to make us some breakfast. Pulling the ingredients for ham and cheese omelets out of the fridge, I get to work. Luckily, we have two hours of watching film before we ever touch the field, so our breakfast will have plenty of time to settle. There is nothing worse than sitting through film starving to death. Okay, maybe not starving, but you get the picture.
“I knew it was a good idea for you to live here,” Caleb says, walking into the kitchen.
“Well, someone needs to feed your lazy ass.” I chuckle. I slide our omelets onto our plates and start another.
“Man, you’re going to regret that second one once we hit the field,” Caleb says before shoving a huge bite into his mouth.
“This one is for Joey. That’s the least I could do after she made dinner last night.”
He points his fork at me. “Good plan. Maybe she’ll stay a little longer and make us home-cooked meals every night.”
“She good?” I ask. I know there is something going on with her. My gut tells me she’s not here just for a visit. Her eyes tell me the same thing. She just seems off to me. Not at all the girl I remember.
“Yeah.” He nods. “She didn’t really say much. Just that she might stay a little longer than planned.”
“Can she do that? I mean with her job?”
“She said she can. I can’t turn her away. She’s my sister.”
“I’d never ask you to do that. I can go if you think it makes her uncomfortable.”
“No. It’s all good. I just… are you good with her being here?”
“Caleb, this is your house. She’s your family. I have no right to say who can and cannot stay in your home.”
He nods. “I know. I’m just all out of sorts right now. There’s something going on, but she hasn’t told me. She said she was exhausted from the drive last night and wanted to go to bed. She promised to talk to me tonight.”
“You have any idea what it might be?”
“No idea, man. I just hope it’s not our parents. Her mom is a fucking joke, and well, you know my dad.”
I grimace. From the stories I’ve been told and from the things I’ve witnessed on my own, he’s right. Nothing good comes from Joey’s mom and their dad. “Let’s hope that’s not the case.”
“Thanks for this.” He stands and places his empty plate in the dishwasher.
“You have paper so I can write her a note?” I ask, pointing to the omelet that’s still sitting in the cast iron pan.
“Just text her.”
“I don’t have her number.”
“Easy fix.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and a few moments later, I get a message. “Now you do.” He moves to walk out of the kitchen. “I’ll drive today. We leave in ten,” he calls over his shoulder.
Scarfing down the rest of my breakfast, I place my plate in the dishwasher and then begin to pull open drawers looking for paper. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about modern technology, but for some reason, I want to write her a note. It’s more personal, and I don’t know. I just feel like she needs that. Whatever it is that’s going on with her, I feel like she needs the personal connection.