The Trouble With Quarterbacks

by R.S. Grey

  He stomps his foot in annoyance. “That’s what I said!”

  “Right, well, that sounds very lovely. I’d love to join you,” Candace says, a blush forming on the tops of her cheeks. She’s looking down at Briggs instead of me, and I wonder if it’s due to nerves.

  She explains she still has to finish with pick-up and then clean up her classroom. I ask her when she’ll be done, and we promise to meet her out in front of the school then.

  When we leave, Briggs insists we have to go get really dressed up while we wait for Candace to finish. There’s a kids’ clothing store on our walk home, and it’s a good excuse to duck away from the photographers out on the street.

  Briggs marches right up to the clerk behind the counter and speaks with very enunciated words. “Excuse me, I am going on a date. I need to be fancy. Like a prince.”

  The shopkeeper looks to me for confirmation, and I nod in agreement.

  “Of course, right this way. I think I have just the thing for you,” he says to Briggs, talking to him like he’s his most loyal customer.

  Briggs follows after the man until we make it to the back corner of the shop where there are outfits for kids to wear to weddings, little suits and dresses.

  Briggs surveys them for one second then points his finger up to the top. “That one. It’s perfect.”

  “Briggs, that’s a tuxedo.”

  Why do they even sell tuxedos for kids?

  “Right. It’s what princes wear in the movies. I want that one.”

  It doesn’t stop there either. Once he has his tuxedo, apparently I need one to.

  “I thought you were the prince,” I tell him as we continue our walk back to my apartment, now with a huge shopping bag in tow.

  “I am, but so are you,” he says exasperatedly. “We have to both wear tuxedos. And I promise I won’t look more handsome than you, so don’t be sad.”

  Right. That’s what I was worried about.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Candace

  I’m still worked up about the way Erin shouted at me in front of Logan. It’s the plight of a preschool teacher working in a place like The Day School. I try my hardest. I wrap myself up in tissue and read a book about mummies and really feel like I’m going the extra mile to be a good teacher, and then BAM, a parent like Erin waltzes in and has a go at me.

  I’m not very good at taking criticism even when it’s the constructive sort. I wish I could stop going over her words in my head, but they’re in there good and cemented and they’ve got me wondering if I tried hard enough to get Margaux to take a nap earlier, if I should have been stricter and really forced the issue. No. It’s useless. In this line of work, you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. On another day, Erin would have shouted at me if I had forced Margaux to have a lie-down.

  I’m sitting out on the steps with a stomach that’s quite grumbly and annoyed with me and a brain that can’t seem to get over the terrible end to my workday when Pat’s SUV pulls up to the curb.

  Briggs and Logan climb out from the back, and a laugh bursts out of me before I can help it.

  It’s not that it’s funny what they’ve done. It’s just so wonderfully cute!

  Briggs is dressed in a tiny black tuxedo! I didn’t even know they made tuxedos so small! And his lovely brown curls are all tucked back and real glossy like he’s got some hair gel on them. In his hands, there’s a bouquet of sunflowers.

  Behind him, Logan stands with his hands in his pockets and a sort of nervous smile playing on his lips. He’s dressed up too, just like he was for the gala, all black and debonair and drop-dead gorgeous. He doesn’t have flowers; he’s let Briggs have them all, but well…what does he need flowers for? He’s the gift, isn’t he?

  I sort of wobble as I push to stand, a cacophony of butterflies fluttering loose in my stomach.

  “Ms. Candace! I mean, Princess Candace! Your carriage is here!” Briggs says, sweeping his arm back to the SUV.

  “Wow, how did I get so lucky? Two princes?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m just the chaperone,” Logan teases as I step toward them. “But we better hurry and get off the street or the photographers will find us. I saw a few a while back.”

  “Well then, let’s set off!” I say, hurrying toward the vehicle. I get in first, followed by Briggs, and then Logan. We fill the back seat, and Pat’s up front with a friendly smile and a nod in greeting.

  We buckle up then Briggs passes over my sunflowers.

  “Those are for you. I picked them special myself.”

  “Wow. They’re lovely.”

  “Do you like yellow?” He sounds deeply concerned, like maybe he’s worried he made the wrong choice.

  “Absolutely. One of the best colors there is. It always reminds me of sunshine.”

  Briggs grins and looks over to Logan to give him a little thumbs-up, like they’ve really pulled off quite a wonderful surprise.

  Logan glances over at me over top of Briggs’ head. I mouth a thank you, and then he reaches back over the edge of Briggs’ car seat to touch my shoulder. It’s the first time we’ve touched in days—since the gala—and I’m starved for more. We didn’t even get a proper hug out on the street.

  “We’re going to eat at a very fancy place,” Briggs says, jarring me out of the private moment with Logan. “The food is going to be dazzling.”

  My brows shoot up. “Dazzling, huh?”

  “Yes, dazzling. Like in that book you read to us yesterday.”

  “Wow, I’m very excited.”

  We end up pulling off into an alley a few minutes later, and Pat must see my confusion because he offers, “Better if you two go in the back door. The restaurant knows to be discreet, and this way you all can eat like normal people.”

  I beam. “Brilliant! Ready, Briggs? We’ll be like secret agents sneaking in the back!”

  “I’m ready!” he says, taking my hand.

  As promised, there’s a hostess waiting just at the door, ready to usher us to a private table in a back room, which we have all to ourselves. Logan and Briggs have brought me to a lovely little Italian restaurant, not real posh and modern or anything, but I like it all the same. There are real ivy plants growing on the tables and those old-school red and white checkered tablecloths.

  “This is my favorite restaurant,” Logan tells me, leading me to my chair so he can tug it out for me to sit. “There’s no better Italian food in the whole city. I swear.”

  “Oh good! I’m starved. Let’s get loads of bread.”

  “Uncle Logan,” Briggs says, clearing his throat. “Could you go sit over there?” He points to the door of the private room where there’s another small table set for two. “Since this is a real date, Ms. Candace and me should be at our own table.”

  I use my napkin to smother a laugh as Logan rolls his eyes. “Okay there, Casanova. Cool your jets and I’ll see if they have some chicken nuggets on the menu.”

  “And ketchup!” Briggs adds, having forgotten all about his request to sit alone with me.

  Logan sits beside me, and Briggs takes the seat across from me.

  When our waiter comes, Logan asks if I want some wine, and I nod my head greedily. “Whatever you think is best. I’m not picky at all.”

  “Let’s just do the house red then. The bottle, please. And Briggs?”

  “I’ll take your finest purple. Juice, that is,” he says, looking up at the waiter. “With a straw.”

  I bark out a laugh and Logan rubs his temple as if to say, I can’t handle this kid anymore. “Briggs, how about we remember our manners and add on a please there at the end, bud?”

  “Right. With a straw, please.”

  The waiter smiles and nods. “Right away, sir. I have a bottle of Welch’s I think you’ll really enjoy.”

  Then he winks at Logan and me and leaves the room.

  “This is the most dazzling date I’ve ever been on,” I say, and Briggs perks up in his seat. “Though I will say, I think you’re a bit too
young for me.”

  “I know, I know. It’s really my uncle you like because he’s so big and tall, right?” He sits up in his chair even more, as if trying to compensate for the fact that he’s only three years old. “When I grow up, I’m going to be just like him.”

  Logan seems embarrassed by the attention, and instead of responding, he opens up the coloring page and a pack of crayons the waiter left for Briggs.

  “Here you go. They have a maze on there I bet you can do with your eyes closed.”

  “With my eyes closed! You’re so silly!”

  The coloring page does occupy him, though, long enough for me to turn to Logan and aim a little smile his way. “I do like the look of this place. It’s not at all where I thought you’d take me.”

  He nods as if understanding what I mean. “There are nicer places in the city. I mean, it’s New York. There are probably a thousand places to eat that would take ten hours and come with a dozen courses, but I really like their lasagna here, and well…you can’t beat Italian food.”

  I smile. “Agreed. So then I should get the lasagna?”

  “We can share and get something else too?”

  “Wow, what a nice gesture. I would have thought you’d be all, Get your own food, lady.”

  “Well normally I would, but considering how much I like you…”

  I beam.

  “Doesn’t it feel like it’s been the longest week?” I ask, turning a bit in my chair so my knee knocks into his leg under the table. He reaches his hand down underneath the tablecloth to keep my leg there against him.

  “I swear Monday had its own Monday, and don’t get me started on Tuesday. I looked at the clock once and thought it was running backward.”

  I nod in agreement. “I think I’ve been rather annoying to Kat and Yasmine. They say I’m only allowed to bring you up once a day now. Any more than that and they’ve got permission to kick me out of the flat.”

  “That’s fine. You can come stay with me.”

  “Oh really? Then maybe I’ll sabotage myself on purpose. Maybe I should give them a ring now and go on and on about how nice you look in your tuxedo.”

  “No need. It’s already settled. You’ll spend the night at my place tonight.”

  “Oh I will? You haven’t even asked me.”

  His brown eyes lock with mine, and my stomach tightens.

  “Do you want me to ask?”

  “Are you guys flirting?” Briggs asks, cutting in. “I can’t tell what you two are talking about. Are you going to have a sleepover? Because if so, I want to come too.”

  My cheeks go beet red, but Logan’s the one to save the moment. He leans over and compliments Briggs’ coloring, and then Briggs goes right back to it as if forgetting his question altogether.

  Logan smiles at me, and then the waiter arrives with our drinks and a lovely overflowing basket of warm breadsticks. I think I eat about half a dozen before our food arrives.

  It’s all so good I can’t keep myself from moaning in bliss. The lasagna! The baked ziti! The fettuccini sauce! I could bathe in it.

  “I want to eat here every day until I die,” I proclaim once I’m too full to eat another bite.

  “Me too,” Briggs says, leaning back in his seat and patting his belly. “I finished all my chicken nuggets. Can I have some dessert now?”

  “On the way home, maybe,” Logan replies. “It’s getting close to your bedtime.”

  We don’t end up fulfilling that promise, because once we make it back to the car and buckle Briggs into his car seat, he’s asleep within a few minutes of driving. It must be the lull of the city noise. He’s a trueborn Manhattanite, and to him, it’s probably the best lullaby there is.

  We pull up in front of a nice-looking brownstone a few minutes later, and Logan carefully unbuckles Briggs so he can carry him inside.

  “I’ll be right back,” he whispers before taking him into the house.

  While he’s gone, I help Pat undo the car seat so we can set it in the back of the SUV. Then he switches the radio to a sports game and we sit quietly, listening while we wait for Logan.

  “I can put it on music if you’d like?” Pat offers.

  “No. This is nice. I think I’m following along. Is this hockey?”

  “Baseball.”

  Ah well. I tried.

  A few minutes later, Logan appears on the doorstep of the house. Briggs’ nanny is at the door, waving him off, and he nods to her before starting to tug off his bow tie. I still can’t believe he put on the whole getup just to make Briggs happy. It makes me want to squeeze my arms around him and never let go. He’s too good to be true, I think. At least that’s how it feels.

  He opens the back door and slides into the seat beside me. Now that the car seat is gone, I can push right up against him so we’re thigh to thigh, finally close in a way we haven’t been able to be all evening.

  “Home?” Pat asks, glancing back in the rearview mirror.

  “Please,” Logan nods, pulling off his bow tie the rest of the way then laying it flat against his thigh. I reach out for it and feel the silky material in my hand. Then, like a weirdo, I bring it up and sniff it, knowing it’ll smell like his cologne, and it does. My stomach squeezes tight and I smile as Logan looks over at me with narrowed eyes, assessing me. He seems to do that a lot, stare right at me like he’s trying to pry back all my layers and see me at my very core. I want to tell him I haven’t got any layers. What you see is what you get, but maybe he feels the same way about me that I do about him—too good to be true, perhaps. Wouldn’t that be nice.

  I have the urge to kiss him but don’t want to make Pat feel uncomfortable, and I’m not so crazed and horny that I can’t wait ten more minutes to have my chance when we’re back at his place and all alone.

  Instead of dropping us out front, Pat rounds the block to the back of Logan’s building then drives down into a car park.

  “From now on, we’ll enter and exit here. Just to be safe,” Logan tells me. When he sees my confusion, he adds, “Photographers aren’t allowed in here. It’s private property, so they won’t get any more photos of you coming and going from my place.”

  Pat waves us off after we step out of the SUV. Logan grabs my hand and heads toward the back entrance of the building that leads straight into the lift, where he retrieves his wallet from his tuxedo pocket and swipes it along the panel underneath the buttons. We start to glide up toward the penthouse, and my mind immediately starts to wander toward nefarious goals.

  “Do you reckon there are cameras in here?” I ask, glancing up at the corners of the rectangular box.

  “I’m sure. This whole building is pretty secure. There are a lot of people who live here who value their privacy.”

  “So if we kissed…someone could be watching?”

  He turns to look down at me, and I don’t smile. I don’t want him to think I’m kidding. I’m definitely not. He glances up at the ceiling for a moment as if thinking it over for himself, then he looks back down at me. There’s a heat in his eyes now, this hunger that’s plain as day.

  He turns his body so he’s facing me, and he takes a step forward.

  I take a step back. It’s instinct, and I keep doing it as he advances on me.

  I’m the one who put this idea in his head, but now suddenly, I’m tempted to shout, Chicken! Ha ha. What a lark, am I right?

  It’s only because he can look so intimidating sometimes, especially when he hovers over me like this, his hand coming up to cradle the bottom of my face so he can tip my head up.

  “What do you think they’ll see?” he asks, letting his gaze drop to my mouth. “Me kissing you?”

  Are we still going up? How many floors do we have to ascend?! Surely, we’re in the clouds by now.

  “Maybe they’re waiting for it,” he says, bending low so his lips hover right over my mouth. “Maybe they’re wondering why I haven’t done it already.”

  But he doesn’t do it. That’s just it! We aren’t kissing.
We’re suffocating to death. There’s no air in this lift and maybe I’ve sucked it all in with my big heaping nervous breaths. We’ll die here, I think, right as the lift dings! and we’re on Logan’s floor.

  He smiles like a deviant then steps back to walk out before me. I’m trailing after him, thinking of ways to do his head in like he’s just done to me. He opens his door and reaches back to take my hand, and then we’re inside. Alone. His place is dark and quiet, a backdrop to all the things I think we should do together. Let’s have sex in this foyer, right on this cold tile. And there, against that wall. My head might hit that lovely picture, but who cares? It’s probably only worth, oh, a couple thousand.

  “Well, strip down then,” I tease as he kicks off his shoes.

  He looks back at me with a smile. “We aren’t going to have sex, Candace.”

  My jaw drops. “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “Oh, I don’t know—maybe because the last time we were intimate, you freaked out and ran off on me.”

  “Well that was bloody complicated! Or have you forgotten about your psycho ex-lover cornering me in the loo?”

  “I haven’t forgotten, which is why I think we should take things slow.”

  “SLOW?”

  Oh now he’s done it. This is going to be the end of me. I haven’t had a proper lay in months—more than that, probably, if I actually tallied the days. I’ve been careful not to so I could preserve some sort of facade that I am, in fact, a sexual creature unable to be tamed. In reality, I might just be Ms. Candace the preschool teacher, good for making a bunch of slimy goo for children but not much else.

  “What a sad turn of events! I suppose you’re going to suggest we watch a movie or something?”

  He shrugs. “We could.”

  I toss my hands up. “Oh bore! Well why don’t you just get me a nun’s habit and I’ll slip that on. Have you got a chastity belt lying around here anywhere? Might as well put that on too.”

  He laughs and comes toward me, taking my purse from my shoulder and dropping it on the little table in his foyer. Then he comes back over and kneels down in front of me so he can help me take my shoes off. Meanwhile, I’m moaning on and on about how he’s ruining my life.