But tonight, I get to cook for someone—Amy Robertsen. My first crush.
Is it pathetic I still remember the way her lips felt against mine all those years ago?
How is it possible that she’s even more gorgeous than she was when we were in high school?
Drumming her red nails against the Silestone countertop, she takes a long drink of wine and then refills her glass. I like that she’s not shy about it.
I continue to stir the meat, adding a bit of white wine, and finding it hard to concentrate with Amy sitting in front of me looking sexy as hell in dark denim jeans and a tight red sweater.
“Why are you using white wine?” Curiosity beams in her eyes and her light brown hair hangs over her shoulders in loose waves.
“What?”
“For the Bolognese,” she juts her chin towards the saucepan. “You’re using white wine instead of red. I was just wondering why you chose white.”
“Does your management analysis job include recipes?”
Her head tips back when she laughs. “No, but I like to use red when cooking, especially Italian recipes.”
“Either is fine for Bolognese. White wine is more authentic in my opinion.”
“I’m definitely rethinking my choice of using the red though, this sauce smells amazing. I might eat my own arm.”
“But you had Doritos at the airport.”
She laughs. “Don’t remind me. I love Doritos, but I love my mom’s home cooking more. She makes the best mashed potatoes. I’d be having them right now,” she moans. “Stupid snow.”
“Do you always have Christmas Eve, Eve with your family?” I turn my attention back to the stove adding in crushed tomatoes, sugar, and a touch of Worcestershire.
“Yeah. It’s a whole deal with all the traditions and then we slide right into Christmas Eve. Of course, I skip out on midnight mass. And then there’s Christmas Day. Presents. Too much food. Some football.”
I waggle my brows. “Do you happen to watch the Renegades?”
She shakes her head. “Never.”
“Something tells me that you’re lying.” I take a drink of wine.
Adorably she lifts a shoulder and smiles. “This is exactly why I don’t play cards. I’m an easy read.”
Part of being a quarterback is reading people. With Amy though, she’s definitely not an easy read.
The door is wide open for me to ask the million-dollar question—why did you kiss me and then pretend like it never happened?
Amy ignored me like her life depended on it after we kissed at the mall. I thought it was a good kiss. A great kiss in fact. But apparently, she didn’t think so.
Instead, I return to the task at hand and dump the noodles into the boiling water. I reach up for the salt and feel a twinge of hot blazing pain shoot down my shoulder and my arm.
Fucking injury.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tweaked a muscle in the game. I heal pretty fast.”
Liar.
New topic needed.
Her phone chimes and she smiles when she glances at the screen.
“Boyfriend?”
Her head rears back as her eyes narrow. Looking at me like I asked the most ridiculous question ever asked.
“Uh no. It’s Alex and his kids. They’re making sugar cookies.” Her eyes meet mine cracking with intensity. “Why do you ask? Are you seeing someone? Because I don’t want to be caught up in a weird other woman drama situation.”
“No. I’m totally single.”
“I haven’t dated in a while. Work keeps me busy and my last relationship went up in flames. I blame my psychic for that hot mess.”
I laugh and set a napkin with silverware in front of her. “You see a psychic?”
“Not anymore.”
“I feel like there’s a story there.”
When everything is finished, I join her at the island. I managed to whip up two Italian salads with pepperoni and black olives. And by the grace of goodness, my housekeeper, Mrs. Young, bought a fresh loaf of crusty French bread.
“This looks amazing,” Amy says draping the cloth napkin over her lap. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I finally have someone that I can impress with my cooking skills.”
Blush flames her cheeks. That’s a good sign, right?
“You don’t get to cook that often?” she asks, before digging into the salad.
“Comes with the job. Training. Practice. Watching game film. More workouts and of course the games. Doesn’t leave me any time for much else. My housekeeper usually makes my dinners. She’s the one who really benefits from the kitchen.”
“That’s a shame. You’ve got a nice space here. I love that the stove is in the island and the sink is on the back wall. My apartment is laid out totally the opposite of yours.”
“You still live in Grosse Point?”
“No. I moved to Grand Rapids four years ago when my dad retired from the shipping company. He offered me the CEO position, but I turned him down. So he gave it to my cousin, George.”
“You didn’t want to be CEO?” I finish my salad and dish up some pasta.
“No. I didn’t feel like I was living my passion. Plus I got some advice from my psychic and she told me that I wouldn’t be happy with my current promotion.”
“That’s when you decided to get a new career path?” I tear off a piece of bread and dip it into the marinara.
“Yep. I like the work. My clients are interesting, and I get to travel.” She waves her hands in the air. “And I get to spend time in places like New York.”
“New Jersey.”
She smiles and pushes her salad bowl to the left. “Right. New Jersey. And I’ll take some of that pasta now.”
“You got it.”
“Bring on the carbs.”
“Speaking of carbs. If you’re up for it, my neighbor, Mrs. Kilroy has an annual Christmas cookie decorating party. Lots of drinks, plenty of food, and games.”
“You go to your neighbor’s cookie decorating party?” She loads up her fork with pasta.
I wipe my mouth and nod. “Hell yeah. I never miss it. I leave with dozens of cookies that keep me well fed through New Year’s Eve.”
“I can’t picture it, The NFL QB at a cookie decorating party. God, they must love having you hanging out.” Amy laughs and bumps my shoulder with hers.
“You’ll love the gang.”
“The gang?” She laughs and tears of a piece of bread. “Who even are you?”
“Come with me tonight and find out.”
“Tonight?” She meets my eyes just as her lips curl around the tines of the fork.
“It’ll be fun, I promise. And it might even take your mind off missing your family.”
“It sounds like a lot of fun. I’d love to go. Am I dressed okay?” Amy sweeps her hand down her body.
Damn. She is really fucking sexy.
“Need I remind you—you’re wearing one of the signature colors of Christmas. I’d say you’re ready to party.”
“Speaking of Christmas colors,” she drawls out. “Where’s your tree? And decorations?”
I blow out a deep breath and toss my napkin onto the island. “The decorating company was supposed to be here this morning but there was some kind of mix-up, so I guess I don’t get a tree this year.”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. “Oh no. We can’t have that. Santa sent me here for a reason. Consider me your very own Elf in Chief for Christmas.”
“Elf in Chief, huh?”
She bobs her head and takes another bite of pasta. “Yeah, we’re going to find a way to decorate your place. Even if I have to make popcorn garland. Also, you need to have your decorators here the day after Thanksgiving.”
“Duly noted.”
Together, we clean up the kitchen. Amy washes and I dry the dishes. I told her she didn’t need to help since she’s my guest. But she insisted that it’s the least she could do.
“I need to
freshen up before this cookie party. Get some of the airport off me.”
I smile. “Sure thing. The guest suite is this way.”
Guest suite? Ugh. I sound like a snob and a half.
Amy follows behind me down the hallway, her heels clicking against the hardwood with each step. “Oh shoot. Should I have taken off my shoes? Your floors are super nice.”
I open the door to the guest suite and flick on the lights. “No worries. Mrs. Young mops my floors every Monday.” I step aside as she pulls her luggage into the room.
“Fancy. A bedroom with a fireplace.” Her fingertips smooth against the down comforter and then she takes a seat on the edge of the bed bouncing up and down.
“The sheets are eight hundred thread count. In case you’re wondering. I hope you’ll be comfortable in here.”
I sound like an asshole. Reel it in, Spencer.
She smiles and runs a hand down her hair, fingers brushing through it. It shines under the soft lights.
“Thanks Spencer. This is wonderful.” She piles her hair into a bun on top of her head giving me a lovely view of her flawless neck.
A neck I’d love to kiss…bite?
Maybe I’ll get the chance. If I do, I might just start believing in the miracle of Christmas.
CHAPTER THREE
Amy
An hour later, Spencer and I are in the elevator on our way to the cookie party. He fills me in on the party details and gives me a little bit of information on our host, Mrs. Kilroy.
In a former life, she was a fashion photographer. Spencer describes her as being, “a real character.”
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come to the party?”
“Yes. You’re my guest.”
“I know. But I don’t have a hostess gift.”
A slow sexy smile slid across his lips and those sparkling blue eyes wash over me. “You’re something else, Robertsen. I’ve got that part handled and it can be from both of us.”
He slides his card into the panel and presses the button for the second floor. Tony Bennett’s voice pumps through the satellite radio crooning out, “Winter Wonderland.”
The elevator doors seem to open on every floor, pushing Spencer and me closer to the back and closer together. His huge bicep bumps into my shoulder and I get a whiff of clean soap mixed with a spice.
Is it hot in here? Just me.
Finally the chrome doors part, but no one moves.
Spencer grasps my hand. “Excuse us.”
He’s holding my hand, and I’m very aware of the tingling zapping through my veins.
Does he feel it too?
A smile breaks out on my face as I see the women in the elevator staring at Spencer and me.
The smell of cinnamon and sugar hang heavy in the air as we trek down the hallway. We step up to apartment 202 and Spencer knocks on the door. The festive boxwood Christmas wreath bounces with the rap of his hand.
It’s so quiet on the other side of the door, I wonder if we even have the right place. The door flies open and a woman with a festive Christmas tree sweater beams with excitement.”
“Ah! My darlin’, Spencer. Come in.” Her Texas drawl is thicker than my mom’s mashed potatoes.
He bends and kisses both her cheeks. “Merry Christmas, Sheila. This is my friend, Amy.”
Sheila lunges forward nearly spilling her champagne. “Friend Amy, huh? Darling she’s a stunner. And if I weren’t already married to the hottest woman in all of the world, I’d steal her away from you.”
Blush flames my cheeks. I like her.
“Hello, Mrs. Kilroy. Thank you for having me tonight.”
She looks at Spencer. “And manners too. This one’s a keeper.” She turns to face me. “I keep tellin’ him, he needs to find a gal that’s one part vixen, two parts smarts, and one part lady.”
Spencer laughs. “How much of Ann’s hooch have you had tonight, Sheila?”
“Oh you shush that smart mouth of yours.” Sheila raises a hand in the air and motions for us to follow her. “Shall we talk about your game performance instead? Dropped balls. Sacks. Good Lord, Spencer—were your hands greased up with barbeque sauce last night?”
“No ma’am. Just pure sweat.”
I bite my lip to suppress my laughter.
Birchwood branches decorated with white poinsettias and slim white trees with lights line the hallway. So festive.
“The party started at five, but don’t you worry this old gal is going to party like it’s nineteen seventy-four tonight.”
I laugh. “Oh good, Studio 54 style.”
“I wish, dearie. Those were the days. I was eighteen in seventy-four. The party at Studio 54 started in seventy-seven. Great fucking year.”
Sheila Kilroy is a fascinating woman.
“Help yourself to the bar. We’ll get started making cookies soon.” She turns on her heel and glides away as her taffeta skirt sways with her hips.
The music thumps a little louder with every step we take. Burl Ives’ “Holly Jolly Christmas” blasts around the room.
Spencer introduces me to a few people that he knows from the building.
A giant Christmas tree lights up the entire space. My eyes don’t know where to look first—the fireplace and the gigantic evergreen garland with red and white flowers that adorn it or the canopy of metallic baubles that hang from the ceiling.
We step up to the bar and Spencer orders a glass of Jingle Juice and I opt for the Clausmopolitian.
“You should’ve hired her decorator.” I take a sip of my drink.
Spencer whispers. “I can’t afford Hans.”
We walk farther into the space and just when I think I’ve seen it all, I’m smacked in the face with an amazing indoor gazebo built with stripped branches and intertwined with hundreds of fairy lights. It’s insanely gorgeous. Underneath the branches sits the cookie making station.
Holy…holy crap. I’m literally in a winter wonderland.
White faux fur seating surrounds the table draped in white and adorned with hurricane vases and candles.
A woman wearing a floor-length sparkling green dress saunters towards us. “Spencer. Hello my darling.” She kisses him on the cheek.
“Ann, you look amazing. This is my friend, Amy.”
“Hi. Your home is amazing. All these decorations are just beautiful.”
“Thank you. It’s so nice to meet you.” Her dark hair tumbles over her shoulders. “I’m Sheila’s significant other.”
Sheila comes up behind Ann and wraps her arms around her waist. “Nabbed myself a brunette bombshell.”
Ann huffs a laugh. “Looks like our handsome quarterback did too.”
Spencer and I exchange glances and I feel my heart thump out of sync.
“He nabbed me at the airport,” I say with a laugh.
“You make it sound like I kidnapped you. When in reality I saved you from spending the night at gate eighteen.”
“Oh no,” Sheila gasps. “Your flight was cancelled?”
“Yeah. I was on my way to Detroit. My mom told me to leave earlier, but I had to wrap up some things before the holidays.”
“Well, hopefully the airport will be up and running tomorrow and you can be on your way to see your family,” Ann reassures and squeezes my hand.
When the doorbell rings, Ann and Sheila wander off to great their newly arrived guests giving me a chance to mingle with Spencer and other friends and neighbors.
Before I know it, Sheila is shoving a fresh drink in my hand and I’ve made something of a decent sugar cookie tree. Mine has festive red balls and a zig zag pattern of white garland. Spencer’s tree looks like a frosted Pop-Tart.
Apparently, he’s won the decorating contest the last two years.
I’ve eaten my weight in cookies and downed another Clausmopolitian. Thank goodness we ate pasta and bread before coming here.
And I’m having a blast. This is the most fun I’ve had in a really long time. Alex tells me that I’m a workaholic. He
’s one to talk. My brother owns one of the largest private security firms with locations in the Midwest and the East Coast.
Ella runs two boutiques, one in East Harbour and one in London.
They’re like the duo-iest duo in everything—two businesses each, two kids, and two dogs.
“I think it looks pretty good,” Spencer says and rubs his palms together. “Yours too, Robertsen.”
“Thanks. You think you’ll win again? I mean you’re like a legend around here.”
He laughs. “I don’t know. Ann’s got some mad design skills. Look at her melted snowman.”
“It’s really good.”
My eyes scan over the table of guests. No one seems to care that a major celebrity sits among the crowd. Maybe they don’t watch professional football?
No, you nitwit, he’s their neighbor. Part of a community and they don’t care that he’s famous.
“Oh dear,” Sheila says.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Another round of snow is coming overnight. Up to eight inches.” Ann and Sheila look at me.
“What?” I try to keep the alarm out of my voice. “But the heaviest snowfall is supposed to stay up north.”
A flutter of conversation breaks out between the guests as our hostesses come around to judge our cookies.
Spencer covers my hand with his. “It’ll be okay.”
I shake my head and manage to keep the tears at bay. I can’t cry in front of strangers let alone Spencer.
My phone vibrates against the tabletop and Ella’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey, I should take this, it’s my sister-in-law.”
His blue eyes stare down at me. “Yeah. I’ll let them know you stepped away for an important call.”
My heart melts into a puddle of gooey icing. Not literally. But dang why is Spencer so damn nice?
I tap at the screen. “Hey Ella.”
“Hey lady,” her posh English accent drifts over the line. “Any word on your flight?”
“Uhm yeah. Girl, I don’t think I’ll be home for Christmas.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. I just saw the weather forecast. Are you at a hotel?”
Snowed In with the Quarterback Page 2
