by Beth Andrews
Some days he hated being a kid. He didn’t get to have an opinion or a say in things, even in his own life. He decided he really didn’t want his mom dating his coach. If they cared about him or respected him, you’d think they could deal with that.
He hadn’t wanted to move here in the first place but he’d been forced to because he was just a kid. His mom hadn’t asked him where he wanted to live or even what he wanted. Neither of his parents had when they’d decided to get a divorce. They’d just told him at dinner one night—over pork chops, his favorite—that they were splitting up and oh, yeah, his dad would be moving out and Andrew would be staying with his mom. Whether he liked it or not.
It wasn’t fair.
“Andrew. Andrew?”
He turned, frowned at Gracie walking toward him. God, did she have to dress so weird? Yeah, she had on jeans, but she wore a freaking tent thing—a poncho or whatever—over them and some sort of knit scarf covered her hair. “What?”
She stopped as if she’d hit a wall, and he saw the flash of hurt in her eyes. Guilt nudged him but he shoved it aside.
“I just wanted to tell you congratulations,” she said, sounding unsure, yet still lifting her chin. “Great game.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, shuffling his feet. “Thanks.”
She stepped closer, frowned at him. “Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re scowling and you sound like someone stole your puppy.”
“I’m fine. I’m just...” He didn’t know what. He was pissed off all the time, and no matter how hard he tried not to be, he couldn’t seem to stop. Even tonight, which should have been one of the greatest nights of his life, he was feeling unsure and confused. Seeing Gracie didn’t help. He glanced around. Lots of people were still there, people who could see him talking to her. He stepped back. “I have to go.”
“Oh. Okay.” She looked disappointed and puzzled. “Sure. I guess I’ll see you later.”
She made it sound like a question. He couldn’t respond, didn’t want her to think he planned on hanging out with her, not when he had a date tonight with Jess. “Yeah. Maybe.”
At the edge of the field, he met up with Kennedy. She hugged him again. Over her shoulder, he saw Gracie watching them. He bent his head and hugged Kennedy back, like he should. When he looked up again, Gracie was gone.
He wished he could call her back. Wished he could go home and sit on the deck with her. Not because he liked her, not in the way he liked Kennedy, but because he could talk to her. He could tell her about his mom dating the coach and why it bugged him. She’d understand.
Instead, he went inside to shower and wished he’d been nicer to Gracie even while he hoped no one had seen them talking.
* * *
LEO JOGGED ACROSS the dark parking lot to catch up to Penelope before she took off. His steps slowed when he realized she was talking to someone. He almost stumbled and stopped dead when he saw who she was talking to.
Maddie.
Determined to intervene before any damage was done, he hurried over to them. “Penelope,” he called as she opened her car door. She turned and he was struck by how pretty she was, how much he’d missed her even though they’d seen each other yesterday.
Christ, he was losing it. He needed to figure this thing out, decipher these strange feelings he had for her, before they took over his life and he ended up like some chump pining after a woman who wanted very little to do with him.
“Leo. Hello.” Then she smiled as if she was really glad to see him. Maybe she did want to be with him.
“Yes,” Maddie drawled, sounding way too smug for his liking. “Hello, Leo.”
He shot her a quick, hard glance, one that clearly told her to watch her step and not to blow this for him. She grinned. Obviously, she was as good as always at reading his mind, knowing what he wanted from her and then doing the exact opposite just to piss him off.
Little sisters were nothing but a pain in the ass.
“Maddie,” he said. Then, because he couldn’t be mad at her longer than ten minutes—his cross to bear—he hugged her.
She squeezed him back. “Good game, Coach. Though I would have run a different play on that third down conversion in the second quarter. You could have gotten a first down if you had.”
“Too bad you don’t have the whistle or the jacket that says coach,” he said, pretending to be sympathetic. “Then again, girls don’t often coach football.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know I hate it when you call me a girl.”
He grinned. “Why do you think I do it?”
Penelope cleared her throat, her wide-eyed gaze bouncing between him and Maddie. “I’m afraid I’m lost. You two do like each other, don’t you?”
Maddie laughed. “How could I not like Leo? He’s so pretty. The prettiest of us all.”
“True,” he agreed. “So true.”
“What brings you out into the parking lot?” Maddie asked, glancing at Bree, who waited in the truck. “Were you looking for me?” she asked, acting as innocent as a nun at Mass. “Oh, that’s right. You were calling for Penelope. Well, here she is.”
Penelope still seemed confused by their relationship. “Yes. Was there something you wanted?”
Maddie batted her eyelashes. “Yes, Leo, was there something you wanted from the pretty Penelope? Do tell.”
He jerked his thumb in the direction of her truck. “Your kid’s waiting for you.”
“She’s fine,” Maddie said with a wave. “She’s texting. As long as her phone doesn’t run out of battery life, she’s good in there for hours.”
“What are you even doing here?” he asked with a sigh.
“Here as in this life? Here as in this parking lot?”
“Here as in talking to Penelope.”
Maddie linked her arm through Penelope’s, leaving Penelope to look bemused and shyly pleased. “Penelope and I bonded during the game. She sat with us and—”
“Us? Not the whole family.”
Please, God, don’t have let her sit with his entire family. She was already skittish, and they could send the most confident person over the edge.
“Every last one,” Maddie said so cheerfully he wanted to strangle her. “She especially enjoyed Mom’s stories about how long it took to potty train you.”
Leo’s neck heated and he could barely make eye contact with Penelope. “She didn’t.”
Penelope nodded. “Don’t worry. A lot of men weren’t potty trained until they were six—”
“Seven,” Maddie corrected helpfully.
“Seven,” Penelope repeated, her lips twitching.
“I was fully potty trained before I went to kindergarten,” he assured her.
“Oh, now, Leo, don’t be embarrassed,” Maddie said, stepping away from Penelope to squeeze his arm. “It’s not as if we told her all your secrets. We saved some for Sunday.”
He almost didn’t want to know. “What’s Sunday?”
“Why, Mom invited Penelope and Andrew over for dinner. Isn’t that great?”
Yeah, great. He nudged Maddie away. “Your kid’s trying to get your attention.”
She turned, saw Bree waving madly, then sighed and hugged Penelope, who looked shell-shocked. Maddie tended to have that effect on people. “It was so nice meeting you, Penelope. I’m looking forward to dinner Sunday.”
“Me, too.”
They watched Maddie walk away, then get into her truck. He waved to Bree before turning to Penelope. “You don’t have to come Sunday.”
“You don’t want me to?”
Why did she have to sound so disappointed, so worried about it?
“No, no, it’s not that. I just don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable.”
He wasn’t used to having a woman he was seeing invited to a family meal. But so far things with Penelope hadn’t exactly gone according to plan, so why should this be any different?
“Like I said,” Pene
lope told him. “I’m looking forward to it. I enjoyed your family tonight.”
“My family and the game?”
She smiled, and he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing her do that. “I’ll admit I enjoyed your family a lot more than the game.”
“Drew did well,” he said, leaning against her car. “And he had fun.”
“I know. It’s just hard. Hard for me to let go, I guess.”
He could only imagine. “Hey, have you eaten?”
“Only a quick bite when I stopped home after work to change.”
“Great. Why don’t you come over to my place? I’ll cook a celebratory dinner. Do you like pasta?”
“You want to cook for me?” she asked, as if he’d suggested he give her his liver, so she’d have an extra on hand in case she ever needed one. “I mean, I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Come on over and find out for yourself.” She hesitated so long he felt like shuffling his feet, felt like the teenager he’d been at this very school fifteen years ago asking a pretty cheerleader out, hoping against hope she’d let him get to second base. “You worried about Drew being home alone?”
“No, he’s going to Luke’s to spend the night there. I had grounded him for joining the team without permission, but he was so excited about winning the game, I couldn’t say no.”
Better and better. Though it wouldn’t hurt Drew to face some consequences for his actions. Still, Leo wasn’t going to complain. Not if it meant Penelope was free. “Great. We’ll have some dinner, a glass of wine.”
She bit her lower lip. “Why?”
“Well, I usually have beer, but if I’m making pasta, I go for red wine.”
“No, I mean, why are you inviting me?”
He brushed her hand with his. “I thought we’d been over this. I find you interesting and I’m attracted to you. And, unless I completely misread the way you kissed me in your car, you’re attracted to me, too.”
“That’s it? You’re attracted to me? So you just want to sleep with me.”
Wincing, he glanced around to make sure no one overheard her. “If that was all,” he said, angry at her for not giving herself much credit, angry at himself for stumbling over his words like some adolescent, “I would have moved on long ago. Believe me, I’ve never had a problem finding someone to sleep with me. You’re different. I like you, Penelope. I like being with you. I thought you liked being with me, too.”
“I do.” She rested her hand on his arm. He froze. She rarely made the first move, rarely touched him at all. Which was why her kiss last night had thrown him for such a loop. “I’m sorry. I’m always saying the wrong thing or embarrassing myself.”
“You’ve done nothing to be embarrassed about and you haven’t said the wrong thing. Just say what’s on your mind and we’ll be fine.”
She nodded. Inhaled deeply. “Okay. Want me to bring the wine?”
He realized that meant she was accepting his invitation. He glanced at his phone. “That’d be great. By the time you get to my place, I should have dinner ready, but take your time, I need to stop at the store and pick up a few things first.”
“Oh, don’t go to any trouble for me.”
He winked. “It’s okay. You’re worth it.”
* * *
YOU’RE WORTH IT.
It was the second time Leo had said that, and Penelope found herself wanting to believe it. To believe him. Why shouldn’t she? He’d been honest with her so far. He’d told her what he wanted from her. Yes, he liked her, but he was also attracted to her, which meant he wanted to have sex with her. A physical release, a few hours of pleasure and then...well...she had no idea. She’d never had a relationship based solely on sex, on physical attraction.
She was starting to wonder if now was the time to change that. If she had the courage for a physical relationship that couldn’t possibly go anywhere.
Looked as if she might soon find out.
She wiped her free hand down the side of her jeans, then rang Leo’s doorbell. A moment later, he opened the door. His feet were bare and he’d changed into a Montesano Construction sweatshirt. His hair was mussed, and her fingers itched to smooth the silky strands.
“Right on time,” he said with a grin as he stepped aside to let her in. He took her jacket, then kissed her cheek. She was still trying to get used to how casually affectionate he was. It always took her by surprise. “Come on in.”
She followed him down a short hallway into a large, bright kitchen. “Wow,” she said, turning in a slow circle. Stainless-steel appliances and white cupboards gave it a modern feel. The counters were wide marble, the floor hardwood. A huge center island dominated the space with an eating area at the end framed by three futuristic stools that looked as if they belonged on a space ship. “I repeat—wow.”
He went to the stove where something delicious-smelling bubbled in a pot and added pasta to a pot of boiling water. “Yeah, it’s pretty great. I told James what I wanted and he designed it for me. Even let me pitch in with the remodel so I’d have a sense of ownership. As if my name on the mortgage wasn’t ownership enough.”
She sat on a high-backed stool. There was a loaf of bread on a cutting board, grapes and cheese on a cheese board. “You really can cook,” she said as she helped herself to a grape.
“Almost as good as my mom. And if you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it and call you a bald-faced liar.”
“I wouldn’t want that,” she told him solemnly. “Did she teach you?”
“A few things. I wasn’t really interested in cooking when I lived at home.” He winked at her. “Too busy chasing pretty girls to worry about how to feed myself. She taught all of us the basics, and Pops has a few recipes from his grandmother that are family secrets, which we all know now, like Nona’s ragù sauce. But mostly I learned when I joined the fire department.”
“So firefighters really do cook for the entire station and eat together?”
“We do, although not every day and not all the guys cook nor would we want them to. But I enjoy it so I tend to throw together a couple of meals every week. What about you? I know you grill, but do you cook?”
Surprisingly, she wasn’t that embarrassed to be teased about her grill incident. At least, not much. “I’m fairly sufficient,” she said, taking his question seriously and giving it deliberate thought. “I can make the basics—roast chicken, pork chops, that sort of thing. And I can throw together a lasagna—”
He held up his wooden spoon. “No one throws together lasagna. You’re killing me.”
She grinned. “Sorry.” He opened the wine she’d brought and poured her a glass. She took a sip. “I’d rather bake than cook,” she admitted. “I like the precision of baking, of knowing that you need to add exact amounts of certain ingredients to get the desired results. It’s like playing with a chemistry set except you get to eat your experiment when you’re done.”
“Next time, then, I’ll make dinner and you can handle dessert.”
Next time. She wasn’t sure there should be a this time, but she was here and she liked being with him so maybe, just maybe, she could relax and enjoy it without worrying about what would happen next.
“That’s a deal,” she told him, and he smiled at her, pleased. She wondered if he knew how difficult it was for her to even agree to that.
“I wasn’t going to bring this up,” he said slowly as if still hesitant to do so, “but Drew was less than thrilled when I told him I wanted to see you again.”
She about choked on her wine. “What?”
“He asked if we were going out again and I told him I hoped so. I’m not going to lie to him or to you about what I want, Penelope. I enjoy being with you. You know I’m attracted to you—”
“Yes, but my son doesn’t need to know that.” Goodness, that would make things between her and Andrew even more awkward. “What did he say?”
Leo checked a piece of pasta for doneness, then turned off the flame below the pot. “More or
less that you were his mom and shouldn’t be dating.”
Leo was now watching her carefully as if trying to read her reaction, to see her thoughts. “I am his mother,” she said, sounding defensive and agitated. Well, why shouldn’t she? She’d been having a perfectly lovely time when he’d tossed this little verbal hand grenade into their evening. “He comes first.”
“As he should,” Leo said smoothly and so sincerely, she believed him. “But that doesn’t mean you let him run your life or make the decisions for you.”
She bristled. “No one runs my life but me,” she insisted, though a little voice inside of her wondered if that was true.
He smiled and crossed to her. Took her hands in his. “Good. Because I want to keep seeing you and I don’t want it to be hard on you. I don’t want you to feel caught in the middle of something that doesn’t have to be there.”
She inhaled and told him the truth. “I want to keep seeing you, too.”
He leaned down and kissed her, then pressed his forehead against hers.
She shut her eyes, her head already so full of him, she had to will herself not to fall for him completely.
No, that wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t allow it to happen. This was...well...she wasn’t exactly sure. But it wasn’t forever.
She eased back, picked up her wineglass and took a sip, both because her throat was dry and to put some distance between them. “Is there anything I can do to help get dinner on the table?”
Instead of calling her on her extremely inept attempt at changing the subject, Leo nodded. “There’s a salad in the fridge. I hope you don’t mind eating at the island. The next step in the renovation process is to knock out that wall to open up more space in here.”
“This is fine,” she assured him. She crossed to the fridge as his phone buzzed.
“Excuse me,” he said, after checking the number. “I have to take this. Hello?” he said, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder while he drained the pasta.
Penelope put the already dressed salad on the table then wandered around the room. It was as neat and tidy as her own kitchen with no unnecessary items cluttering the counters, no bursts of color to take away from the sleek lines.
