Covering Kendall(23)

“Of course.” She handed him the container from the refrigerator. “What else do you know how to make?”

He put the knife down to grin at her. “Meatloaf, spaghetti, toasted cheese sandwiches, and my dad taught me how to grill a steak. I’m also excellent at takeout.” She had to laugh at that. “I have a chef five days a week during the season, but the rest of the time, I’m on my own.”

“You have a chef?” It wasn’t unheard of among league veterans, but she was still a little surprised.

“Let’s just say he takes care of the nutritional stuff I need while I’m playing,” he said. “I go to the practice facility to eat too.”

“What’s the last thing you cooked for yourself?”

He chuckled a little. “Does heating up pizza count? A couple of my teammates dropped by the other night and brought me some.”

“Did they invite themselves over?”

“There was a little conversation earlier in the day about them visiting, but I . . . I got a better offer. They would have ditched me for coffee with a beautiful and interesting woman.”

It wasn’t the first time in her life a man had called her beautiful, but his sweet, almost shy delivery of the word made her heart skip a beat. Maybe she should keep things light.

“Does that happen a lot? The blowing them off part, or the getting a better offer part?” she teased.

His cornflower-blue eyes held hers. “Nope. It doesn’t.” He took a deep breath. “I hope you don’t think I’m in the habit of routinely ditching my friends. They tend to drop in often. We didn’t have anything formal going, so I walked to the bookstore to get a little exercise. I thought I’d listen to the biographer guy for a few minutes before I went home. Then I met you.” He let that hang in the air for thirty seconds or so.

If a six foot four inch, 250-pound man could be called “adorable,” Drew was it. He was a fascinating combination of warrior and Boy Scout. She’d seen his game tapes more than once. He’d beat his opponents on the football field to a bloody pulp and walk out of the stadium minutes afterward to tenderly help some little old lady across the street.

She wanted him so much. Too bad she couldn’t have him. She’d make the most of tonight, and then she’d throw herself into her work to forget him.



DREW FELT LIKE he was walking barefoot through a minefield. The pull he felt when she was near was almost irresistible. She was lovely, funny, smart, interesting—all the things he’d wished for in a woman and more. He wanted to find out more about her. She was determined to advance in a cut-throat industry and excel at a high-powered job, which meant the last thing she’d want to do with her time was have enough babies to fill up his huge house and have dinner on the table when he walked through the door each evening.

He realized his expectations were ridiculous. It wasn’t that he thought the woman of his dreams should spend her days polishing his Pee-Wee football trophies. He wasn’t too much of a he-man to throw in a load of laundry or do the vacuuming. It took two to make a house a home. And yet, he really wanted someone who wanted a family and a home like the one he grew up in. He pictured a bunch of blond-haired kids filling up the silence in his big house with laughter and fun, a big dog cuddled up with all of them in the evenings while they watched TV or read or played games together. He saw Easters and Thanksgivings and Christmas mornings in his mind’s eye. He’d like to spend his weekends at his children’s soccer or T-ball games and have his and his wife’s friends over for a little barbecuing or a beer on Saturday nights.

He also realized he was probably looking in the wrong places for the wife of his dreams. Women who wanted to focus on their families didn’t hang out in a corporate boardroom or the front office of a pro football franchise. Maybe he should try going to church or something to meet a potential mate. He wasn’t especially religious, and he was fairly sure his long hair would get him tagged as a “troublemaker” or worse in a big hurry, though. The imaginary women he might meet in the future paled in comparison to the one he was talking with right now.

Kendall led him to her small backyard again. He spied a five-gallon bucket next to her sliding glass door with trowels, shears, and some well-worn gardening gloves he hadn’t noticed previously.

“You must enjoy gardening,” he said.

“I do,” she said, gesturing toward a small patch of flowers. “It’s not much, but it’s relaxing. There was nothing but dirt back here when I bought my house. I wanted to make something I’d enjoy seeing when I was doing the dishes.”