Blitzing Emily (29 page)

“Fine. How are you?”

“Never better. I hope you’re free a little later.”

Emily’s voice dropped to a purr. “That depends. Maybe you should tell me what you have in mind.”

“Let’s have some dinner and see what develops.”

“Where are you now?”

“One lane over, and a car back from you.” Emily glanced into her mirror, recognizing Brandon’s black Land Rover. “Maybe I should follow you home.”

“Maybe you should,” Emily said. “Don’t tell my fiancé, though.”

“Really?” He was the only man on earth that could make one word sound unbelievably sexy. “Will he be jealous?”

Emily took the exit to her house. “I think so,” she said.

“We’ll have to make sure we don’t get caught.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me what we’re doing when we get there.”

“I’ll think of something. Right now, though, I think I should turn you over my knee and spank you.”

“What? Me?”

“That’s right. Flirting with other men. I’m shocked, Emily Anne.”

Emily was never into that before, but right about now, it sounded tempting. She hit the remote control buttons, and pulled into her garage. She grabbed her handbag as Brandon came around to the driver’s side of her car. He reached in for the flowers, put them on the hood of the Escape, and pulled her into his arms.

“Somebody sent me flowers today,” she breathed against his mouth.

“Some other guy’s trying to pick up my girl. I’ll have to deal with him.”

“His name’s Brandon.” She shivered. “He’s amazing.”

“Not as amazing as you are. I missed you today.”

“You must have made it to your appointments.” She reached up to run her fingers through his still-damp curls.

“I was late. I got a lot of sh— crap from the guys.” She saw a faint wash of color over the top of his cheekbones. “Let’s just say that I don’t typically use the lavender and vanilla fabric softener, and that’s what I smelled like when I got there.”

“I’ll need to use something more—manly—on your sheets.”

Emily heard a low chuckle in her ear, and he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue.

“Sugar, the only thing I care about is that you’re lying on them, and that you’re naked while you’re doing it. Let’s go.”

T
WO DAYS AFTER
Emily and Brandon finally pried themselves out of her bed, she left for performances in Washington, DC. The diva scheduled to sing Gilda in
Rigoletto
had just come off a series of successful performances at Mexico’s national opera house. She’d also evidently eaten tomato
Provencale
with her breakfast one morning, and had contracted the worst case of Montezuma’s Revenge known to mankind. Emily sang the role after the cover came down with a bad cold as well. She was very happy with her performances and the reviews. Of course, the press was more interested in her fiancé and their engagement.

The daily grind of voice lessons, rehearsals for upcoming productions, occasional interviews, and photo shoots flew by as she counted the hours till she raced home to be with Brandon.

Emily arrived back in Seattle on a sunny, late afternoon in July. Brandon was due at the Sharks’ training camp the next morning. He’d be there for three weeks. He also had an appearance he couldn’t get out of that evening. Her job required travel, too, but Emily was sad about not seeing him before he left. Showing up at the team’s facilities was out of the question. At least they could text and talk on the phone.

A little after ten o’ clock that night, she heard a knock at the front door of her house.

“Sugar, it’s me,” Brandon said as she peered through the peephole. Her heart leapt. She pulled the door open.

He wore dark dress slacks, a heathery-brown, long-sleeved, cashmere V-neck sweater with a t-shirt beneath, and a huge grin.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this? What time do you have to be there tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t care. I have to see you.”

He strode inside, shut the door, and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her off her feet and swung her around the front hallway of the house.

“Tired?” he asked several minutes later.

“A little,” she admitted. “I missed you, though.”

“I want to take you somewhere. Throw some clothes on.”

“I don’t have any makeup on,” Emily argued.

“You look great. Let’s go, sugar.”

Emily ran upstairs to her room. She pulled on jeans, a knit top, socks, shoes, and a hooded sweatshirt in record time.

Five minutes later, they were on the freeway.

“Please tell me we’re not going somewhere that requires dress clothes.”

“Persistent little thing.” His voice was affectionate. “I’m taking you out for fish and chips.”

Emily tore her eyes away from the moonlight rippling over Lake Washington on either side of the 520 Bridge to turn and look at Brandon again. Even an hour with him was a thrill for her. If he got another fine from his coach over this, she might have to split it with him. He was worth it.

“When I first came to Seattle, one of the other guys dragged me all over town. We ended up at Ivar’s Fish Bar on the waterfront.” Brandon said. “I’ve been back many times since. I especially like coming down here late at night. It’s not crowded, and it’s quiet. We can get a bite and visit with each other.”

“I haven’t been there for a long time.”

He reached over and took her hand. “Happy?”

“Yes.” Emily clutched his hand in both of hers. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. Then again, he was beaming, too.

They pulled up in front of the outdoor restaurant. People were strolling along the sidewalk, but no one seemed to notice them. They must have been as transfixed as Emily was with the beautiful summer night and the full moon. Brandon ordered food and drinks to go, and hurried back to the car.

“I have somewhere special I want to show you,” he said, pulling away from the curb.

A few minutes later, Brandon and Emily arrived at Sharks Stadium. He pulled into a space marked “Reserved.” He grabbed the food, took Emily’s hand, and hurried her inside a door to the stadium.

“Hey, Stan,” he greeted the security guard.

Stan tipped his baseball cap. “Brandon. This must be your young lady.”

“Yes, she is. This is Emily. Sugar, this is Stan. He runs the place.” Stan let out a low laugh. “I’d like to go upstairs, if that’ll work for you,” Brandon said.

“Yeah. Have fun.”

Brandon dragged her onto an elevator. Well, maybe not quite “dragged,” but he was definitely on a mission. They exited a few floors up and walked through a concourse until they reached a group of picnic tables. Emily sat down on the bench as Brandon unpacked their feast, and she gazed at the perfect view of Elliott Bay from the top level of the stadium.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“The view from the baseball stadium is pretty good, too, but they don’t know me over there.” He pointed at the sky, where the stars were thrown like diamonds over black velvet. “Did you make a wish yet?”

“It’s not the first star,” Emily said.

“Make a wish anyway.”

“No harm in trying.” Emily closed her eyes and wished. Little did Brandon know, but all her dreams were already coming true. “What did you wish for?” she asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

He fed her a piece of fish instead. It was delicious.

“I never knew you were a fish and chips guy,” she teased.

“I had to get you up here. I have something for you.” He dug into his pocket.

“You already bought me a really nice ring, and I love the earrings. I enjoyed the flowers, too,” she said.

“But that was all a few months ago. I . . . Well, this is almost as good.” He put an envelope with a Sharks logo into Emily’s hand. “I’d really like it if you would come to my first preseason game. The view isn’t quite this breathtaking from the other side of the stadium, but you’ll be under the roof if it rains.” He waited expectantly. To Emily’s surprise, his hands trembled as their fingertips brushed. He licked his lips and wouldn’t meet her eyes. She peeked at the date printed on the tickets. Luckily, it was the only week she wasn’t booked in August.

“I’ll be there. Thank you for asking me.”

He reached out to embrace her, miraculously missing the food and drinks spread out in front of them. At the same time, the food was pretty secondary at this point. She relished the scratchiness of his cheek against hers and the warmth of his embrace.

“You must think I wouldn’t want to go,” Emily said.

He studied his food for a moment. The self-assured, funny, masterful guy Emily believed she knew suddenly turned into a shy, hesitant high schooler.

He shrugged. “You might have a scheduling conflict.”

She wiped her fingertips on a napkin, and took his chin in her hand to look into his eyes. “I can’t wait to watch you play again,” Emily said. She held up the tickets. “I’ll bring Amy. I know she’ll want to be there, too.”

“Sure. If you need more tickets for your mom and dad, let me know.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be interested?” She stuck the tickets and envelope into her handbag.

He shrugged, took a sip of his iced tea, and ate another bite of fish. As usual, he’d devoured a double portion of fish and chips and was now working on hers, too. Finally, he spoke.

“Anastasia never wanted to see one of my games.”

“I’m not Anastasia.”

“No,” he agreed, “you’re not.”

“I’m a little curious . . .”

“Hit me.” He slid his arm around Emily’s shoulders and let out a sigh.

She took a deep breath. “I’d love to know exactly what it was about Anastasia that appealed to you. Why did you ask her out?”

“Sugar, you’re going for the gusto.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just wondered.”

“I’d love to tell you it was her brains and personality, but, mostly, it was what she looked like. And I kept asking her out. Sometimes she’d say “no,” and sometimes, she’d say “yes.” I had to chase her. It became a challenge.” He shook his head. “Would it make you feel better if I tell you it’s probably one of the more stupid things I’ve ever done in my life?”

“Wanting to ask someone out isn’t necessarily stupid—”

He shook his head. “I knew the first time we went out that it wasn’t good. I kept at it, though, because she was a model, and, to be truthful, I got to show her off.” He rubbed his chin with his free hand. “Yeah, she was a challenge, but she had no interest in anything I find valuable. She doesn’t like football. She couldn’t understand why I work out through the off-season, or why it’s important to me to see my parents and my brother as often as I can. Not surprisingly, my parents weren’t that crazy about her when they finally met. I didn’t want to go to New York and hang out with her model friends. The guys thought I was godda— a little crazy to break it off with her when it finally happened. All professional athletes want to date women the normal guy can’t get.”

Now it was Emily’s turn to feel awkward and insecure. She wasn’t sure what to say, but Brandon, as usual, sensed she wasn’t overly thrilled.

“Sugar, I’m an ass,” he said as his hand closed around hers. “What I should’ve said is that I’m damn lucky to be here with you tonight. I can’t believe you’re wearing my ring. Out of all the parking lots in the entire world, you wiped out in mine.”

Emily had to laugh when she saw his slightly crooked smile. “I just didn’t understand how you could . . . Well, Anastasia and I don’t have much in common.”

“Thank God.”

Emily laid her head against his shoulder and looked up at the endless, starry sky. “You’re not an ass.”

“I really messed up just now.”

She slid her arm around his waist. “No. You were being truthful. Every guy in America wants to go out with a Victoria’s Secret model.”

“Not this one,” he said firmly. “I like opera singers.”

“You are such a liar.”

“Listen. I have a fiancée that can bitch me out in five languages. Plus, I’d be nuts to go out with someone who’s elevated getting rid of the dinner I just bought her to an art form.”

“So bulimia doesn’t make you hot.”

“I love watching you eat,” he assured Emily. “You enjoy it. You enjoy everything, though.”

“Are you looking forward to this season?”

“I’m always looking forward to the season. I want to play forever, but I can’t.” He looked out over the bay. “I might have another couple of years. Maybe.”

“What’s it like to be out there?”

“Playing in a game?”

Emily nodded. He thought for a moment. “You perform for an audience, too. What’s it like for you when you’re standing onstage? You’ve just sung. The crowd’s applauding. What happens?”

“I love the feeling. There’s nothing like it. There’s energy, and adrenaline, and the fact people love what I just did. I can’t wait to do it again.”

“Okay. That’s usually a couple thousand people.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, I’m listening to fifty thousand people screaming my name. There’s nothing else I could ever describe that matches it. I’m doing something I love, and I want to keep doing it forever. When I get home after a game, I can’t sleep because I’m still so wound up from the energy in the stadium.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

“You will. When guys retire, they don’t know what to do with themselves. There isn’t a stadium full of people cheering for them when they mow the lawn and drive the carpool. They’re guys that used to be somebody, and now they’re not.”

Emily bit her lip. “They’re always somebody. They still mean a lot to their families and friends.”

“Of course they do,” he said gently, “but it’s not the same. It’s never going to be the same. That’s what I’ll be facing. I’ll have to find something to do with the rest of my life that won’t be anywhere near as exciting as what I’ve been doing since the first day I ran out on a football field and played in a game. I love the sport. I always will.”

He folded his lips. A shadow passed over his features, and Emily felt her stomach clench in empathy. She didn’t know what to say. Mostly, she knew that whatever she did say would probably be wrong. She would have to try till she got it right, though, because she wondered how she would feel if she woke up one morning and could never sing again.