Running Back to You (The Running Series, #1) (55 page)

“Well, that’s about five weeks from now, so that puts you at about six
weeks post-op.  You can drive yourself there, but I really don’t want you using
your hand.  If you push it too quickly, you take the chance of causing the
tendons to split.  That would mean another surgery and additional rehab time. 
It’s best to be cautious and not take any unnecessary risks.”

“How about just running some drills with the team?”

“Tell you what, get your physical therapists on board and do exactly what
they tell you to do.  If you are very vigilant, you may be able to do some
drills.  Come see me in two weeks, and let’s reassess your progress then.”  He
gives Evan a set of Chinese stress balls and a referral to begin physical
therapy immediately. 

Evan tries to put on a brave face, but I can see the apprehension in his
eyes.  His entire life depends upon him being able to throw and catch a
football.  Dropping things does not bode in the NFL.  But if I know anything
about Evan at all, I know he will pour himself one hundred percent into his
recovery and physical therapy.  If anyone can overcome an obstacle, Evan can
and will.

When we’re nearly home, Evan asks me to drop him off at Adam’s house.  He
says there are a few work-related matters he needs to deal with, and I’m sure
updating Adam on the details of today’s visit is chief among them.  He promises
to be home by seven for dinner. 

I go home to our big empty beach house and it feels strange to be alone
here.  Without Evan to keep me company, I feel oddly lonesome.  Auggie and
Brandon are in Baltimore and Emmy and Derek haven’t called in days.  I can’t
blame them.  Surely, they have been spending their time trying to find new
jobs.  They both have rent to pay and bills that are due soon, and without an
income, they won’t be able to survive.  I still feel pangs of guilt when I
think about their situation.  I know they don’t blame Evan or me for their
current joblessness, but it doesn’t make me feel any less remorse. 

Tomorrow is our house warming party.  All our friends and family will be
here to celebrate our new living arrangements.  Well, not all our friends, only
those that live in New Jersey.  I wish Reese and Sara could be here, too.  Perhaps
someday soon.

Evan comes home exactly on time in high spirits.  He’s got a bottle of
Malbec and a box of dark chocolates with sea salt from Van Holten’s
Chocolates.  We eat dinner outside on the deck under the stars.  Slowly,
darkness creeps up on us, casting a romantic moonlit glow across the deck.

We sit beneath the stars while the waves are gently rolling onto the
shore, talking about our future.  “Juliette, did you know that most NFL players
have second careers after football?”

“Well, I never really thought about it, but yeah.  I imagine that a lot
of players retire fairly young with lots of good years ahead of them.  Why do
you ask?”

“I’ve been thinking about finding something I can fall back on some day. 
I’d like to start thinking about my future.  About our future.”  Under the
table, Evan rubs his bare foot up and down my calf.

“Baby, you can do anything you want.  The sky is the limit.  I’ll be
there to support you no matter what you choose.” 

Evan is in a playful mood, flirting and teasing with me whenever he has
the chance. “Even if I decide I want to become a pizza delivery man?”  He
passes me a piece of chocolate and sweeps his thumb gently across my hand.

“Even then,” I tell him.  I get up to refill my glass of wine, and Evan
impishly grabs my ass.  I wonder if we will still feel this way after another
month or even a year.  “Do you have anything in mind?”

“I’m toying with a few ideas, actually.  Callie owns her own flower
shop.  I think I’d like to be a business owner, too.” 

I can’t imagine Evan doing anything other than professional sports.  “I
could easily see you owning a gym or a sporting goods store.  Is that what
you’re thinking?”

“I’m not sure, maybe.  You know, we do spend a lot of money at the Green
Planet Coffee Company.  Maybe I’ll buy my own coffee shop and then we’ll never
have to buy a cup of coffee again.”

“True.  But there’s no rush, baby.  You’ve got a long career ahead of
you.  I’m going to take very good care of you and make certain you follow all
the doctor’s orders.”

“I’ve always wanted my own private nurse.  Does that include nightly
sponge baths, too?”  He smiles at me and it’s mesmerizing.

His t-shirt stretches tightly across his muscular arms as he leans back,
weaving his fingers together behind his head.  When he bites his lip and puffs
out his chest, taking in a deep cleansing breath, I know he’s watching and
waiting for my reaction.

Unable and unwilling to hold back any longer, I eagerly climb onto Evan’s
lap.  I cup his nape while doing one of my favorite things in the world,
running my fingers through his thick, silky hair.  I whisper in his ear, “Let’s
go to bed.  Doctor’s orders.” 

Evan moans lightly, pulling me closer, and replies, “You don’t have to
ask me twice.”

Head Over
Heels

S
aturday morning arrives.  It’s been exactly one week since Averee’s
nuclear explosion.  Evan hasn’t spoken of her at all since that night.  Once he
told his story to the police for the final time that was it.  The book was
closed.

We have a big day ahead of us, so we start our day early with the sunrise. 
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to waking up and walking fifty feet to the
beach.  Today’s run starts at five thirty in the morning.  Evan’s not to be
deterred from his exercise routine, and I’m more than happy to be a supporting part
of that.

Our run is punctuated by a communal shower and breakfast.  We return to
our favorite breakfast nook for a hearty meal.  Evan and I both order an
omelet, although he adds bacon, sausage and hash browns on the side.  How he
can eat like that and still look the way he does amazes me.

After a quick run to the grocery store on our way home, we begin getting
ready for the party.  Evan is in charge of the savory dishes while I’m in
charge of the sweet.  Our parents are bringing most of the side dishes.  I plan
to prepare two desserts.  The first is a tray of chocolate dipped strawberries
with mascarpone filling.  Because of Auggie’s affection for my cake pops, I’ve
also decided to make some cheesecake cake pops with a cherry center.  My last
contribution will be a cool and refreshing beverage, utilizing my newfound
passion for cocktail creations. 

I decide to start with the easiest first – mint leaf ice cubes for our
cocktails.  All it requires is fresh mint, boiling water, and ice cube trays. 
Every few hours, I’ll empty the tray and refill it with a fresh batch.  By
tonight, I hope to have dozens of mint cubes for our refreshments.

As I begin my mise-en-place, Evan sets to making the marinade for our
steaks.  “That was a great breakfast,” Evan says as he gathers his
ingredients.  “They have the best breakfast sausage I’ve ever tasted.”  He
tries to suppress a burp, but fails miserably.  Rather than a deep belch, he
produces something akin to a muffled sneeze. 

“Seriously?  You call that a burp?  My college roommate could do a better
job than that!” I chastise him.

“Hey, I was just trying to be polite.  But if you want me to let some
bodily functions fly, just say the word.  I’ve been holding back since you
moved in.” 

“Listen, chief, we’ve lived in the same house and slept in the same bed
for a week now.  You may be able to control yourself when you’re awake, but
while you’re asleep ...  let’s just say that Maddy has gotten up and left the
room on more than one occasion, and it wasn’t because she wanted to stretch her
legs.”

Evan sweeps me up into his arms and twists me around so we’re
eye-to-eye.  “I’m not the only one who farts in their sleep, in case you were
wondering.”

He trails kisses and love bites down my neck, trying to distract me from
his last declaration.  I push him off me and look directly into his eyes, “I
most certainly do not!” I pronounce emphatically.

“I was talking about Maddy.  But it’s good to know that I have found the
only living human being on Earth incapable of flatulence.  Should we call
Guinness now or after the party?” 

Evan and I spend the rest of the day getting everything in order.
Outside, it’s a beautiful crisp day in April.  The air is warming and the sun
is shining brightly.  Away from the beach, the leaves are now fully formed on
the trees, removing the final vestiges of a long winter.  Our pear tree has
found a permanent home in Evan’s front yard among the brightly colored flowers
and bushes lining the property.  The beautifully landscaped grounds offered us
several location choices.  Evan insisted it be placed right beside the front
door as a constant reminder that this home now belongs to the pair of us. 

Evan appears in the kitchen to help, freshly showered and ready.  I love
the way he smells; his pheromones awaken something deep within me.  He’s
wearing a Black Sabbath concert tee today.  As usual, his muscular arms stretch
the shirt to its limits, highlighting each ripple and curve.  His new Diesel
jeans that hang low on his hips and OluKai leather flip-flops complete his
casual look.  When he comes near, I cannot resist slipping my hand under his
shirt just to steal a moment of his skin against mine.

Just as I’m about to devour him, Evan’s phone rings.  His sister Callie
calls to let us know that she is almost here.  I set up the mini-bar on the
deck and stock it with a pitcher of fresh made Strawberry Lemonade Sparkler and
a full ice bucket.  Evan lights the grill, and we’re ready to meet and greet
our guests.

When Callie arrives, Regan is sound asleep; it’s her naptime and while I
may not have any nieces and nephews of my own, I know that it’s a terrible idea
to interrupt a toddler’s nap.  We clear a spot on the bed in the guest room,
and Callie stations herself in the house, waiting for her daughter to rouse
from her sleep.  Dean and Evan make themselves comfortable outside, popping
open a few Coronas and manning the grill.

Next to arrive are Marcus and Camilla, followed closely by Adam.  As is
customary, the boys find themselves gathered outside by the grill as the women
join ranks in the kitchen.  I ask Camilla how Marcus is making out in his job
search.

“Marcus had another job interview yesterday.  He got a job offer and he
thinks he’s going to accept,” she gleefully explains.

“That’s great!  Where is it?  What will he be doing?” I ask.

“I’m not sure exactly where it is, but it’s a new restaurant with a bar
and he’s been offered the manager’s job.  He just has to meet with the other
owner before anything is definite.”  She seems extremely happy about the
prospect, almost giddy.  I hope it’s a good opportunity.

As we’re chatting, Emmy arrives and comes gliding into the kitchen,
looking divine.  She’s added a thick deep raspberry accent color to the entire
left side of her hair, framing her delicate face beautifully.  Her hair is
pulled back, leaving long blonde strands hanging along the nape of her neck. 
She’s wearing a strapless black chiffon top with a ruffle and a pair of skinny
jeans.

“Emmy, I love what you did with your hair.  It’s adorable,” I fuss over
her.  “Where’s Grant?” I ask.  She’s here alone.  I haven’t seen her with her
boyfriend in almost two weeks.

“Gone.  He got transferred to Seattle.  He left yesterday.”

“No one told me.  Oh, Emmy, I’m so sorry.  How are you?”

“It’s okay, really.  We haven’t been spending much time together.  I’ve been
so busy, helping to find ... I mean hoping to find a job.”  She really does seem
all right, happy even.  “It was time for a change.  I thought I would start
with my hair.”

“Well, I love it!  Can I get you a drink?  I made a special pitcher of
Strawberry Lemonade Sparkler.  Care to try some?”

“Jette, your cocktails are always out of this world.  I’d love to try
one.  What’s in it?”