Page 50 of Filthy Player
It sounded like the perfect way to spend the night. “Yes.”
His breath warmed my throat as he laughed and he pulled back, kissing my nose. “After we eat. Need you to have some energy for later.”
He winked and stepped back, gripping my hand and leading me into the kitchen.
***
His home was an immaculate, narrow brownstone. The front room led into a dining room and then a kitchen. Beaux’s had an addition on the back with an extra large living space and I knew upstairs there’d most likely be three bedrooms and two bathrooms. They were typical of the Raleigh downtown area, some well over a hundred years old and decrepit, but Beaux’s had been modernized and updated over the years.
White quartz countertops and stainless steel appliances filled his kitchen and when we reached it, he pulled out a barstool. He demanded I sit while he finished grilling chicken and what smelled like lamb burgers on his gas stove top, added a side of asparagus, and then fixed up a salad filled with a variety of different lettuce. While he worked, he filled a glass of wine and slid it toward me and grabbed himself a bottled water.
Had to hand it to the guy, he had serious skills in the kitchen.
I moaned for what had to be the fifth time since I’d started eating. “How did you become such a good cook?”
“Have to eat twice as much as the average person and I need it to fuel me, not just fill me. In college, we had a nutritionist. I learned what I needed to eat, learned I liked doing it, and then I kept trying new crap.”
He always made everything he was talented at sound so simple. Perhaps he was that gifted at everything he tried.
I’d be jealous if it hadn’t so far turned out in my favor.
“How was your practice today?” I asked. The team hadn’t played great on Sunday and last night he’d said practice had been rough.
“Good. We’ve got some new guys on the defensive line and some timing kinks to work out, but we’ll get there.”
“Of course you will.”
“Yeah? You have that much faith in me?”
Yeah. I was beginning to think I did. “No,” I teased, laughing at the face he made. “I have faith in your tight end.”
“Powell? He’s your thing?” He held up a hand, covering his eyes. I laughed so hard tears were forming in my eyes. “Gah! Never mind. Don’t tell me. That dude’s marrying my sister and I don’t even want to think of you wanting him, too.”
“I don’t want him, you ninny.” I tossed a tomato from my salad at him. “But he’s more serious. More determined. From everything I’ve heard he’ll probably retire soon and I’m sure he wants one more ring.”
“Eh.” Beaux shrugged. “Once you have one it’s not important.”
Liar, liar pants on fire. “Really?”
He skewered me with a look and shoved a fork full of chicken into his mouth. After he swallowed, he winked. “Fuck no.”
We finished our dinner, talking about family, he told me about Shannon and the jewelry store she opened in the warehouse district. It was more successful than any of her wildest dreams, even though she was still certain part of her success had to do with being engaged to Oliver.
After dinner was done, I tried insisting he let me clean up but he filled my glass of wine back up and pointed toward the living room. “Go turn on the television. It’s your night off so relax.”
I hesitated. I always helped. Then I remembered just weeks ago I was thinking of how nice it would be to have a partner, someone to lessen my load, and notice when I needed a break.
He kept pointing. “Go.”
Fine. He wanted to wash dishes. I’d let him wash dishes. I hated doing them.
My next surprise came when I saw the two, at least seven-foot tall built-ins flanking his extra large television.
Filled with books.
I scanned the shelves. He had everything from courtroom dramas, murder mysteries, and thrillers to non-fiction autobiographies and self-improvement books. I was just finishing a sip of wine when Beaux entered the room.
“You read all these?”
