“I want you to tell me you think I should buy it. Or not, if that’s the case.”
“But it’s not my house.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t value your opinion.” My stupid, stupid heart beats a little faster at that, at least until he adds, “You spent the last twenty-fours looking at all the houses available in my price range in San Diego. Do you think I’m going to find something that meets my needs better than this?”
“No. I really don’t.”
We’re on the second floor now and he reaches for my hand, tugs me over to the edge of the balcony that looks out over the ocean. We stand like that for a few minutes, just staring out over the ocean as the sun finally sets.
Then, as the moon turns the ocean to polished glass, he turns to me with a huge grin and says, “Okay, let’s make an offer.”
I barely resist the urge to crow. I did it. I found him a house—and made my first sale. Holy shit. I did it. And in thirty days, when this baby closes, I’m not going to be poor anymore. I’m going to be pretty close to the opposite of poor. I mean, not buy a $24-million-dollar house opposite of poor, but I’ll be able to get my car fixed. Pay off my credit card. Eat. All of which sounds pretty damn fantastic to me.
“Let’s do it,” I tell him. “I mean, we have to decide what you want to offer. And I’d suggest sleeping on it tonight, just to be sure. I’ll write it up tonight, and then if you still want the house in the morning, we can submit it first thing.”
“I’ll still want the house.”
“I know. But we’re talking about twenty-four million dollars. I want you to be as sure as you can possibly be before we do this thing.”
“And my teammates told me real estate agents only care about their commission and not their clients.”
“They’ve obviously met my boss.”
He laughs. “It was one of them who suggested her, actually. And though it’s a dick thing to say, I’m really happy I soaked you with that puddle yesterday.”
“It is a dick thing to say.” I mock glare at him. But as he presses a soft line of kisses over my cheek and down my jaw, I can’t help relenting. “But I’m glad, too.”
“Oh, yeah?” He presses his mouth to mine once, twice, then again and again. “And why is that, exactly?”
“My dry cleaning only cost ten bucks. Which means I made ninety bucks off your bad behavior yesterday.”
“Ninety bucks, huh? I hope you plan to do something fun with it.”
“Oh, I absolutely do,” I say, voice deliberately breathless. Which includes buying groceries so I can eat until payday, but it’s not like I’m going to tell him that.
There are some things that rich quarterbacks don’t need to know, no matter how easily they make you come…
Chapter 15
Hunter
I want to take Emerson out to dinner, partly to thank her for the work she put in to finding me the perfect house and partly because I don’t want her to think that what happened this afternoon is just a one-off thing for me. While I’m the first to admit that most of my sexual encounters lately have been one-night stands followed by the occasional hookup if we’re both in the mood, that’s mostly because I’ve tried to be available for Heather and the kids whenever they need me.
While that hasn’t changed—my twin and her children will always be my top priority—I find myself reluctant to just walk away from Emerson. She fits me in a way I wouldn’t have expected when I first saw her on the curb yesterday, like everything in her was designed specifically to appeal to everything in me. And while I really don’t have time for a relationship right now—between Heather, the kids and the fact that we’re coming up on the busiest part of the football season—I figure I’m going to have to make time. Because I’m not letting Emerson walk away from me. Not until we have a chance to explore the insane chemistry that burns between us.
I’m about to suggest dinner at one of the many amazing restaurants that line Prospect, just a few blocks from the house I just decided to buy. But before I can broach the subject, I get a text from Lucy, asking when I’m going to be home. She’s using her mother’s phone, but I know it’s her from the long string of ridiculous emojis. And from the fact that she misspelled the words “when” and “home.”
So much for dinner—and a shot at repeating what happened in that garden this afternoon. There’s a part of me that wants to text her back, to tell my niece I’ll see her in the morning. After all, I made sure there’s someone there to cover dinner and a movie with the kids as Heather doesn’t have enough energy to handle them for any length of time anymore. But just because they have a babysitter doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore Lucy’s obvious desire for reassurance. She’s about to lose her mother and she knows it. If she needs me, I’m going to be there for her.
Which is why—after we’re back in the car—instead of asking Emerson out, I ask, “Do you have a car you need to pick up at the office or can I drop you at home?”
She’d been looking straight at me, a big smile on her face. But as my words sink in, her eyes go blank and she turns to look out the window instead.
Her response—or lack thereof—makes me want to kick my own ass, and that’s before she admits, “My car’s in the shop, actually. So if you don’t mind dropping me at home, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Of course. Just point me in the right direction.”
“I live in Imperial Beach, so you can hop on 805 South and we’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”