Colt Anderson. He acted like I should recognize his name, and there was a tickle in the back of my mind like I’d heard it, but I couldn’t place it. I was beyond certain that if I’d ever seen him before I’d remember it. He wasn’t a man that any woman would easily forget. His dark brown hair was short and wavy, but the feature that captured my attention was his arctic blue eyes. They looked like ice chips with a hint of blue, and they were as cold as ice when he looked at me. I shuddered slightly at the memory. I had no idea why he seemed to take an immediate dislike of me, but we were trapped together for the next couple days, whether he liked me or not.
I shrugged it off and grabbed my phone. I saw there was still a signal, so I sent a text to my sister saying, “I’m safe, but I won’t make it, until the storm clears.” It looked like it went through, but I didn’t anticipate a response back, with the current conditions.
I didn’t hear my grumpy host, and I was not willing to waste an opportunity to look around, waiting on him to give me a tour. I moved toward the living room and the gigantic rock fireplace. It was truly massive, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. I realized it was gas, so I flipped the switch and immediately saw the comforting flicker of flames.
I continued my exploration, avoiding the master bedroom. There was a loft and four more bedrooms upstairs. I admitted I was surprised he didn’t shove me in one of those rooms, since they were further from him. Instead he’d placed my stuff in the closest bedroom to him. I considered the fact that I should be concerned about staying with a strange man that seemed to hate me on sight, with literally no help available to me. But I wasn’t. I didn’t have the impression he was violent, even though he could easily snap me in two.
I was 5’7”, but he towered over me. I could wear my tallest heels and not worry about emasculating him with my height. Not that I was so tall myself, but it had come up on occasion with dates. There had been one guy in college. He was great, but completely obsessed about the difference in our heights. He was a couple inches taller than me, but freaked out any time I wore heels. There were many things I’d give up for the right man, but my heels weren’t one of them.
I wandered into the kitchen, admiring the gas range and granite counter tops. I pulled open the fridge with the intention of making lunch, but frowned instead. Obviously, this guy was a health nut. The fridge was stuffed with fruits and vegetables. I poked around, but couldn’t find anything that wasn’t organic, free range, and healthy. I sighed deeply. It didn’t matter how hot he was. If he couldn’t respect junk food and chocolate, then he was not a contender.
“See anything you like?” I heard from behind me. I spun around, startled, and my mouth dropped open. He was pulling a shirt over his head, but my eyes were glued to the eight, yes eight—I counted—pack abs currently absorbing my full attention.
“Well?” he questioned, looking at me curiously, as he finished pulling his shirt on and hiding that glorious view from me. I stuttered slightly, trying to remember the question, before saying, “Yes,” because honestly, who wouldn’t like those abs? I could almost get on the health food bandwagon, if the payout was staring at those abs all day.
“Cool, so what do you want?” he asked, coming around the bar to my side.
“Want?” I questioned stupidly. Was he really asking what I wanted? Should I have told him to just leave the shirt off? Did you do that with someone you just met?
“For lunch. You were staring in the fridge and I asked if you saw anything you liked. You said yes. So what do you like?” he replied slowly, almost as if speaking to a child.
“Oh! I, um, like everything. I can’t even decide, there’s so much great stuff,” I finally exclaimed, trying to hide the stupid thoughts racing through my mind. This guy doesn’t even like you. , He is not asking if you like his body, I told myself, embarrassed at my thoughts. I’d never had such an immediate lusting after a human being in my life. Granted, I’d never been in the presence of such a gorgeous human either.
He gave me a weird look, but it was better than the glacier stare I was getting earlier, so I was okay with it.
“I’ll make omelets. You can tell me what veggies you want in it. That way you can try a variety,” he said, pulling the free range eggs out of the fridge.
“Yum,” I managed, watching him. Pretty sure my yum was more for his tight rear end than the omelet, but he didn’t need to know that. I was distracted by the thought of bouncing a quarter off it, because I didn’t know if that was really a thing, but I imagined I could on his buns.
“So what do you want?” he asked over his shoulder.
“A quarter,” I murmured distractedly.
“What?” he said, turning around and looking at me. I flushed, realizing what I’d said. I opened the fridge and shoved my face in, trying to cool it off.
“I mean what were you thinking for your omelet? I don’t want to make it complicated.” I wasn’t sure if the complicated bit was for his benefit or mine. I wasn’t interested in dealing with a moody man, even if he made David Beckham’s ass look flabby.
“Peppers, onions, cheese, and grab some of the grape tomatoes too,” he told me, cracking eggs into a measuring cup. I saw some mushrooms, so I grabbed them as well. I placed everything on the counter next to him, and I couldn’t help but smell him. He wasn’t wearing cologne, but instead, the scent was a combination of his soap and the laundry detergent from his clothes. I breathed deeply, attempting to be discreet, but I want to bury my nose in his back and never move. He moved back, and almost stepped on my toes. I jumped out of the way and muttered, “Sorry.”
I moved back and pressed my back to the bar, far away from him and any temptation to molest him. He glanced down at the stuff I placed on the counter and his eyes narrowed on the mushrooms. “I don’t like mushrooms,” he said shortly.
“Then why do you have them?” I asked, curiously.
“I have a company stock the fridge with fresh foods before I come in. They must have included the mushrooms,” he said, grabbing the container and throwing it into the trash.
“That’s alright. Didn’t really want mushrooms anyway,” I said with raised eyebrows. He looked abashed, but didn’t pull them out of the trash. “So you have hash browns to go with these omelets?”
“Really? Hash browns? Do you want me to fry them and then dip them in ketchup too?” he asked mockingly.
“Well, yeah. That’s how you do it,” I said, seriously. He shook his head and started chopping the vegetables. I’d say the silence was comfortable, but it wasn’t. The way he chopped the veggies made me think he wished it was me he was chopping up. I wasn’t very good at silence, so I started asking questions.
“So what do you do for a living?” I started with.
He gave a short laugh, “You really don’t know who I am, do you?” I shook my head, wondering if I was going to feel like an idiot when he told me.
“I play for the Denver Broncos,” he said, pouring the egg mixture into the hot skillet. I felt the lightbulb go off, once he told me that. My dad and brother talked about him. He was the youngest quarterback in Broncos history, and he was going to take them to the Super Bowl this year. Blah, blah, blah. I couldn’t really say I cared about football, but if that was what all those pads were hiding, I could develop an interest.
“Oh!” I told him once it clicked. “My dad thinks you’re amazing. Some football prodigy or something.” He laughed before saying, “And I guess you couldn’t care less?”
“Pretty much,” I admitted. “Can’t say I’m a sports fan. I know the basics, because of my family, but I don’t watch the games for fun.”
“Fair enough. What about you?” he reciprocated. I got the feeling he was being polite, but I didn’t care.
“I’m a writer, sort of,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow at that, so I expanded. “I want to be a writer, but my family feels that won’t pay the bills, so I teach English at a community college.”
“It allows you to pursue your dream,”
he said, showing more understanding than I expected. “They want you to have a fallback. You can’t fault them for that. I have a business degree; in case the whole football thing doesn’t work out.” He flashed me a grin, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. “I also figured it would help me know how to manage my millions.”
I laughed out loud at his logic. Looking around at his rented mansion though, I didn’t doubt he’d need to know how to manage his millions. I seemed to remember my brother saying he was the highest paid draft pick in the history of the NFL.
He slid the omelets onto plates, and we sat at the bar. The silence was a little more comfortable now. I looked out the window, as I ate. I was supposed to be spending the time with my family, but this was turning out to be an interesting detour. He cleared his throat before awkwardly asking me, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
That was so not a question I was expecting from him. “No,” I said quickly before thinking better of it. Did I really want to get involved with this guy? He looked disappointed at my answer, so I asked him, “Did you want me to say yes? Cause I can change my answer.”
“No, no. It’s fine,” he said uncomfortably. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he avoided my gaze. I decided to turn the tables on him and asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
He looked up at me, startled, quickly saying, “NO! Of course not. I don’t have a girlfriend either.” He gave me a sideways look, as he said, “Why would you even ask that? Do I not look straight?”
“No,” I replied bluntly, enjoying the look of disbelief he gave me. I started checking things off on my fingers, as I said, “You’re gorgeous, incredibly built, rich, and you seem to have a marked dislike of me. And since I don’t remember doing anything to you, I have to assume your issue is with women. So I figured there was a better than fifty percent chance you were gay.” I must have stunned him into silence, because he didn’t say anything for a few minutes.
“I’m not gay,” he finally said, getting up and stomping over to the dishwasher with his plate. I bit back a smile, as I watched him. Good to know.
He went into the great room and saw the fire. “Glad you’ve made yourself at home,” he muttered darkly before throwing himself into a leather recliner. I cleaned my dishes and settled on the couch. “I can turn it off if you like,” I replied graciously. He shook his head and stared out the window. Mr. Moody was back, I guessed.
After a few minutes of being hypnotized by the flames, I heard him clear his throat again. I turned and looked at him saying, “Maybe you should see a doctor. You seem to have something in your throat.”
“I don’t have anything in my throat, damn it. What are you doing up here anyway? I was told there aren’t many houses up this way. I like my privacy,” he grumbled. I raised my eyebrows at that gross understatement.
“Whoever told you was right. There’s only one other house up the road, and it leads to my family’s cabin. We’ve had it for years, and we usually make it a point to come up on the holidays,” I told him quietly. “In fact, it’s only another five miles or so, but in this weather, I don’t think I’d make it.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it here. If your headlights hadn’t caught my mailbox, I would have sworn I’d passed it by,” he said reluctantly. Truthfully, conversation with him was akin to pulling teeth. I could only wonder what woman had done a number on him. The silence settled over us again, but the tension didn’t lessen. I couldn’t stand the silence, so I started telling him about myself.
“I live in Georgia. It’s where I went to college. I majored in English, but got my teaching certificate as well. The rest of my family lives in Denver. They couldn’t understand why I’d move so far away to go to school. But I couldn’t stay here. I thought I’d smother with them around.” I was rambling, but he hadn’t told me to shut up, so I considered that a good sign. “My brother was the oldest. He’s an engineer and overachiever.” I was interrupted at this point by his low voice, “Hannah wanted to be an engineer.”
I’m curious so I asked, “Who’s Hannah?”
“No one I’m willing to talk about,” was his curt reply. I left it for the time being, but I wanted to know more about this Hannah.
“Anyway, I have an older sister too. She’s a nurse. They’re both married, happily. I feel I should stipulate that, since so many marriages are unhappy these days.” This startled a short laugh out of him, and I couldn’t help but think Score one for Sophie. “No grandkids yet; even though my dad is desperate for one. But I have a feeling one of them will announce a pregnancy at Christmas dinner. How about your parents? Do they have any grandkids?”
His face was stony, and I was under the impression I’d hit on some taboo topic. He was silent so long I thought he was never going to say anything, but he did finally. “They have a granddaughter, Grace.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Do you get to see her often?” I asked.
“No,” he said, in a tone that ended that line of questioning. “Okay.” I replied, dozens of questions buzzing in my head, but I swallowed them all back.
“My family wants me to settle down, get married, and have kids. They never liked my career choice,” I told him, the hurt seeping through my voice. They’d never come out and say it, but I’ve always felt like I was the child that disappointed them. I picked a career that suited my wanderlust, but wound up having to teach to support myself. I saved every penny I had, so I could travel when I was on break. It seemed like I was always searching for something, but I haven’t found it yet.
He was quietly listening to my admission. “I’m the youngest and don’t get me wrong, playing football has always been my dream, one my family fully supported. But in its own way, it came at a high price,” he told me. I sensed a story, but I didn’t press. At the moment, it felt like we were the only two people on the planet, and I’d rather not spend it with Grumpy.
“You won’t miss Christmas with them, will you?” he asked, out of the blue a few minutes later. I turned to him in surprise. “No. The blizzard should be gone in a couple of days. The plows will come through, and I should be able to get to the cabin,” I assured him, uncertain if the thought of being trapped with me over Christmas was why he was asking.
“That’s good,” he said, his expression empty.
“Are you going to make it home for the holidays?” I asked, hesitantly, since I’d quickly figured out family questions were a trigger.
“No, I haven’t been back home in years,” he said, his jaw working.
“You should join me and my family,” I told him, smiling. He gave me an odd look, like he was not quite sure if I was serious. “I’m serious,” I stressed. “What a way to get the pressure off me, bringing a famous football player to Christmas dinner. I wouldn’t even have to give my dad and brother their gifts.” He barked out a laugh at that, but I was serious. The thought actually had merit. I shelved it for later, though. I wouldn’t want to push him over the edge.
“So what’s it like to be an NFL quarterback?” I asked him. “Do women throw their panties at you? Or wait … is it more like men want you to sign their chests?”
“I’m impressed you know what position I play,” he teased me. I rolled my eyes, as he continued. “I’m not a rock star, but I don’t lack for female companionship,” he admitted with a smirk. Again, I rolled my eyes. At this rate, they were going to get stuck up there.
“But let me guess, no serious girlfriend? Has there ever been a serious girlfriend?” I asked him, only somewhat teasing.
“Once,” he said, closing off again. I sighed, thinking at this rate, it would be summer before I got a complete answer out of him.
“I’m going to go with it didn’t end well, from your revolving door of ‘female companionship’. I’m kind of surprised the grocery company didn’t deliver that too,” I said tartly.
“They probably forgot. But it’s okay. I crashed into you,” he said, with a slow smile. I admit, I opened myself up to that, but I hadn’t anti
cipated his smile sending heat zinging through my body.
He reached over and grabbed a remote, flicking the wall size TV on. He got a ‘no signal’. Up here, all we have is satellite, and in this weather, there’d be no reception. “Drat. And I wanted to watch clips of my game on ESPN,” he said, with a smile.
“You want to play a game?” I asked, reluctant to leave his company.
“I don’t have any games,” he admitted.
“What about a deck of cards?” I inquired.
“That I might have,” he said, getting up to go to a drawer. He pulled a deck out with naked women gracing the face of the cards. He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, “They’re cards.”
I agreed and mentioned, “Poker?”
“Strip poker?” he asked, with a smirk. I shook my head no, smiling. We settled down and played different versions of poker throughout the afternoon, stopping only when the rumbling of my stomach got too loud to ignore.
“I think we’ll call it done,” Colt said, throwing his cards down. “Your stomach is distracting me.”
“Sorry, I like to eat every few hours. Fuel for the body and all,” I replied smartly, gathering up our cards.
“Nah, it’s cool. I’m getting hungry myself. What you want to eat?” he asked, getting up to stretch. His shirt rode up, as he lifted his arms over his head, and I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the narrow strip of back that I could see. Who knew a back could be so sexy?
“Sophie!” I heard him call and I jerked my attention up to his face. “Were you checking me out?” he asked me, a slow smile crossing his face.
“What? No, of course not,” I stuttered, feeling a blush creep up my neck. He snorted at my lame denial, and moved to the kitchen.
“So what do you want to eat?” he asked again, pulling open the refrigerator door.
“Where is the junk food stashed?” I asked, knowingly. I’d determined through an afternoon of cards that he had a sweet tooth. I knew he had a stash. It was just a matter of finding it.
The Anderson Brothers Complete Series Page 22
