Page 18

Zoe

T here are three extra trucks in Grant’s driveway when I pull up to his house the next afternoon. I should have called. He clearly has company. And I have had much better ideas.

I look down at Bronco, who’s sitting in the passenger seat, his newly trimmed coat shiny but eyes just as red-rimmed and droopy as ever. He’s judging me. I can tell.

“What?”

He woofs in response.

“It’s not my fault. We didn’t get a chance to talk last night. And I want to thank him for asking his publicist for setting the story straight. And . . . and . . .” I would like a repeat of our kiss. But I can’t even manage to say that part out loud.

In part because that’s admitting I want to be with him. And maybe a little bit in part because I could just drag him down.

Grant is . . . blerg.

It’s not like he’s perfect. I know he has flaws.

But I’ve also seen how much he cares about Kenna and how he treats Denise and Jerry like family. He’s incredibly gentle with me. At his core is a faith that assures me he would never do what Joe Kellyn and guys like that do.

He makes me feel . . . safe. Like if Knight doesn’t call me back and I have to find a new career, I’ll be okay.

So long as I’m with Grant.

Pressing my forehead to the steering wheel between my hands, I scream. Bronco howls along but off-key.

Because even the dog knows as well as I do that I have no—absolutely zero—business thinking about a life with Grant. Being with him will just make working for my dad harder and drive the wedge between me and my family deeper.

I should go back to Nan’s, hide from the world, and settle for daydreaming about that kiss—that perfect kiss.

For the rest of my life.

Dramatic much, Zoe?

A sudden knock on my car window makes me jump and Bronco bark. I jerk my head up to find Kenna standing on the other side, her smile nearly breaking her face.

“Are you here to practice for my call-back?” she asks before I can get the door open more than a crack.

Pasting on a practiced smile, I nod. “Of course. Yes. Let’s make sure you’re fully prepared.”

“And you brought your dog!” She runs around the car and opens the door to let the wiggling guy out, but the silly boy can’t jump down from the seat. “What’s his name?”

“Bronco.”

She squats in front of him, scratching behind his ears until his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. “You’re so cute!”

“I think you’ve made a friend for life. No need for flattery.”

She laughs as I lift him to the ground and let him start sniffing along the grass line. This isn’t a sidewalk kind of neighborhood, but Bronco isn’t afraid of walking all over the neatly manicured lawn, and I think he’s about to find a place to do his business when the front door swings open.

“Hey, Kenna! Are you—?” Grant suddenly stops, our gazes locking across the distance. He blinks once as a slow smile rolls into place. “Hi.”

I lift my hand in the lamest wave ever witnessed.

But Grant doesn’t turn around. Instead, he strides across the grass, ignoring the paving stones and making a beeline for me. “I didn’t know if I was—I didn’t know if you were coming over today.”

Like a junior higher, I want to ask if he’s glad I did. Instead, I say, “Thought you could get rid of me that easily?”

“You thought that was me trying to get rid of you?” He scratches his head. “I might be more out of practice than I thought.”

I can’t swallow the snort that comes out. Because if that kiss was Grant out of practice, I’m not sure I’d survive one after he’s brushed up on his skills.

“What are you guys talking about? You’re not making any sense.” Kenna looks back and forth between us, her hands on her hips and head cocked to the side. Bronco is looking up at us with similar exasperation.

“It’s nothing, kiddo.” Grant plops his hand on top of her head. “Did you take the trash bins out to the curb?”

“I forgot,” she says, then immediately darts toward the far side of the garage.

We both watch her go, and I take a few deep breaths before turning back toward him. Everything inside me wants to reach for him, but I cross my arms over my stomach and force myself to stay still. It doesn’t mean I miss the uncertain movement of his hand, like he’s reaching for my arm. He pulls back before he touches me. Then tries again before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I think I see a flash of desire in his eyes. Like maybe he’s not sure he could let go once he touches me. Like the lightning between us would leave us permanently connected.

Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Zoe.

I will, thank you very much.

“Did you want to come in?” Grant suddenly frowns. “The guys are here.”

“Guys?” I must sound like an idiot. But I can’t be expected to keep up with even the simplest conversation when I’m thinking about Grant’s touch. And kiss. And whatever is shimmering between us.

“Card. Ja’maar. A few of the O-line guys. We’re just grilling some steaks and—”

“Yo, Red! You got any more of those T-bones?”

Leaning to the side, I spot Ezra Jennings at the open door. Ja’maar Harlin right behind him.

Then suddenly, Ezra lets out a long, low whistle. It’s not a catcall or anything. More a sound of astonishment escaping. “Miss Peebles,” he calls with a quick nod of his head. “Didn’t know you were—” His surprise doesn’t stop him from striding toward us.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper for Grant only. “I should have called. You’re clearly busy. I was just out picking up Bronco from the groomer and thought I’d . . . well, you know.”

“Ask for another kiss?” His words are low, and I have to fight to keep my retort at the same volume.

“I never asked for the first one.”

“Debatable.” He gets it out just as Ezra and three of the biggest guys I’ve ever seen up close reach us. Grant seems to know exactly where they are on the grass—probably a byproduct of years together on the field. And before I can argue his very questionable assumption, he turns slightly toward them. “Guys, this is Zoe Peebles.”

“Duh.” Ezra says to his QB. For me, he has a straight white smile as he reaches out his hand to shake mine. I feel like a small child compared to all six foot four and two hundred and fifty plus pounds of him. “Miss Peebles.” There’s a sparkle in his brown eyes and a flirtatious tilt to his smile as he runs his hand through his cropped but slightly curly hair.

No wonder he’s known as the team Casanova.

“Zoe,” I say. “Please.”

“You can call me Card.”

“Not Ezra?” I ask.

“Nah.” Ja’maar claps in him on the shoulder. “Only his momma and his sister call him Ezra.”

And the TV announcers. But I’m not about to admit in front of Grant that I’ve watched a couple of their games.

There isn’t time for me to ask for further explanation of Card’s nickname as Grant quickly introduces me to the others. They’re all respectful, though I’m not blind. I see the questioning looks they shoot Grant’s way. He must see them too, but he deflects with ease.

Maybe I should be taking different lessons from him.

“Are you joining us for dinner?” Card asks.

“I shouldn’t. I just stopped by to—where’s Bronco?” I spin around looking for Nan’s missing companion, but I shouldn’t have worried. He’s sprawled in the last patch of sunlight across the lush green grass, ears flopped wide and hind legs bicycling through a dream.

“Bronco?” All of the guys stand up a little straighter.

“Down, boys.” Grant waves them off. “He’s old Mrs. Peebles’s dog.”

Card laughs, deep and throaty. “Figures. I get the feeling there’s no love lost between her and her son.”

“You’d be right about that,” I mumble.

“Then you have to stick around and tell us about it,” Ja’maar says, laying a loose arm over my shoulder and steering me toward the house.

A quick glance at Grant confirms that he wants me to stay, so I nod slowly. “Dinner, then I’m helping Kenna with her call-back.” Kenna beams as she runs up to join us, sliding her hand into mine. I give it two squeezes, and her grin manages to grow.

“Grant, will you—?” But as I glance over my shoulder, my heart flips in my chest. He’s already carrying a floppy dog toward the house with the same care he gives a football.