Rush, page 6
“No,” I awkwardly back away from his hand. “It’s just sauce.”
If he’s confused by my reaction, he quickly shrugs it off and enters my apartment, filling the small space with his massive body and formidable presence.
Rush is wearing an official Nighthawks black t-shirt with the team logo in the center, dark wash jeans, and a pair of his favorite black combat boots. If I didn’t know him to be the calm, gentle giant that he is, I’d be scared shitless of all tattooed, six feet five inches of him.
“You’ve got some sort of weird emotional attachment to those boots if you ask me. Take ‘em off,” I demand. “You know the rules. They’re the same in every apartment. I’m anal about keeping the floors clean and God knows what the treads of your boots have stepped on.”
“My boots are clean, but whatever you say, hard ass.”
I give him a quick squeeze around the waist.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I tell him. “You smell good. What are you wearing?”
He smells extra divine tonight. Must be the perks of being able to afford such expensive cologne and aftershave.
“Soap and water.”
“Aww, you took a shower just for me?”
“Funny.”
He tosses a plastic shopping bag hard toward my chest that I catch like the volleyball queen that I still am.
“What’s this?”
“Look inside.”
I scream once I pull it out.
“Oh my God!”
It’s an official throwback Saint Stevenson football jersey with his autograph on the back.
“You like?”
“I love it! You know he was my favorite player of all time.”
“I thought I was your favorite.”
“After you, of course,” I say as I slide the jersey on top of my clothes. “Ooh, it’s so roomy.”
I pose like a model in front of the simple tall mirror affixed on the wall next to my door.
“It was the jersey he wore the last time he won the division. I couldn’t get you a Super Bowl one because he auctions those for charity.”
“He actually wore this?” I pull at the material and sniff it. “I think an actual tear of joy just fell from my eye.”
“It’s your congratulations gift for becoming an official Nighthawk. Welcome to the team.”
Rush takes a moment to look around my small one-bedroom apartment.
“So this is your famous new bachelorette pad?”
“Yep.”
I spread my arms wide and slowly twirl.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s totally you.”
Rush crashes his heavy body on the blue couch I bought for a steal in the Ikea As-Is section, and the joints of it make a squeaky cry for help. It’s the only half-decent piece of furniture I own, but it’s probably going to need replacing soon.
“Take it easy, big boy. I think you may just break my precious couch if you’re not careful.”
“A simple summer breeze from your window could break this precious couch.”
“Very funny, Bacchetti. Not all of us can afford hand-carved Italian furniture flown in from the motherland.”
He rolls his eyes.
“What’s for dinner? Smells good.”
“A Taylor family specialty.”
“Which is?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs, salad, and garlic bread. The meatballs are made with a combination of ground lamb and beef.”
“Impressive.”
“I know, right? Since I’m not allowed to say the forbidden words between us, I thought the next best thing would be to cook you a celebration dinner.”
“You better take that jersey off then. I don’t want you getting any Taylor family sauce on it. It’s a collector’s item.”
I cock my head to side. “How much did this cost you?”
“I’m not telling.”
“You didn’t get it for free?”
“No, Bird. Stevenson doesn’t just give away his jerseys to random people for free.”
“You’re not random.” I shake my head and feign disappointment. “When are you going to realize that you are the most feared, most talented, tight end in the league?”
“You should start a fan club for me,” he jests.
I know that I often make Rush uncomfortable with my compliments because he isn’t your typical vain football star. He knows he’s talented, but he doesn’t like a fuss to be made about it. He’s always been that way. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow him to forget who he is to this game… a freakin’ phenom.
“I would start the Bacchetti fan club, but then I’d make everyone sing Purple Rain as a requirement to get in. They’d hate it.”
“I like Prince and even I’d hate that,” he quips.
I pull off my gift with the quickness and hang it carefully in my closet. I have a feeling I could auction it at Sotheby’s in ten years and buy a beach house with the proceeds, so I better take good care of it.
“I can’t believe you got this for me,” I say, overwhelmed by his generosity.
“I can’t believe you actually got the job.”
“Stop the act, Bacchetti. It’s obvious that you had everything to do with me getting the job so quickly.”
“I swear I had nothing to do with it. They wanted to fill the spot ASAP.”
“Yeah, but she said that she needed to pass her notes to her superiors. There’s no way she did all of that in twenty-four hours.”
“Actually, it’s very possible that she did. They work fast and well past the usual nine-to-five hours.”
“I guess I have a lot to learn about how the NFL works.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what the hell you said to Miranda in that interview. She must really like you. I heard she’s an especially unyielding interviewer.”
“You heard? Give me a break. Don’t you already know? I thought you and your lady friend would have discussed all types of things by now.”
“My lady friend, Mia?” He sounds exasperated.
“Miranda is a lady, and she is your friend. Your friend with benefits.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“I told you before that our days of benefits were a long time ago.”
“She seems nice enough, Rush. Normal. She has a good job and a sexy phone voice. I wouldn’t object to you two going on another date.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” he says snidely.
I walk over and stir my pot of sauce. It smells damn good if I say so myself. I even diced an onion and a green pepper and tossed them in there like Grandma used to do.
“Do you think it’s odd that she didn’t bring up my knee during the interview and then offered me the position so quickly?”
“Is that why you think I had something to do with it?”
“Don’t you think it’s unusual?”
“Did you bring your knee up to her?” he asks reservedly, as if he’s walking onto a landmine.
“I didn’t find the right time.”
“You didn’t even mention it once?”
“Dude, I was kind of nervous. I said the word damn by mistake and I think she was worried about my age and length of work experience, so I didn’t want to offer up any more strikes against me on a silver platter.”
“Your leg was kind of a big thing to leave out, Bird.”
“I didn’t technically leave it out. I included it on my application.”
“Oh, well, you should have led with that. If you mentioned on there, then you’re good and the bottom line is you got the job, so there’s no need for us to speculate about it anymore.”
“Just humor me a little longer. Why didn’t you tell her about the knee when you recommended me?”
Rush stalks over to me, probably annoyed with the length and direction of this topic of conversation, and then the oddest thing happens. He strokes the smooth hairs of my ponytail back in the most intimate and calming way.
“Because it’s your story to tell, Bird.”
Rush maintains unwavering and intense eye contact with me, and all I can hear are the labored breaths between us. For a moment, it almost feels like he’s going to kiss me.
But then my sauce bubbles over.
“Oops, dinner’s ready,” I say in a small voice to break the erotic tension between us.
He nods in a way that disconcerts me. Like he’s saying until next time in a sinister Darth Vader voice.
“Okay, Bird.”
His feet stay planted in place, which forces me to slip around his body and start serving dinner. I place two large serving bowls of pasta and green salad on my retro glass coffee table that I purchased from a consignment shop. Rush follows over to the table and starts making his plate while I return to the kitchen to grab the garlic bread out of the oven. I practically feel like I’m running from him in my own house.
“When do you start?” he asks as if nothing bizarre just happened between the two of us.
“My first day is Monday. I think they want to fill the position quickly because of training camp.”
“Yeah, camp is brutal. It’s seven days a week, but then things slow down once preseason starts. We get days off then.”
“All I’m doing on Monday is meeting my boss, going for a tour of the training facilities, and filling out paperwork.”
He turns his head to stare at me at the stove, but his eyes land right on my butt and linger there.
“Are you looking at my ass?” I try joking with him to add some levity back into the evening.
His eyes dart away uncomfortably.
“Of course not.”
“Of course not?” I dramatically glance down at my butt. “What’s wrong with my ass?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” he huffs.
“Then why of course not?”
“Mia.”
“What?”
“You have a beautiful ass.”
My stomach flutters after he pays me the compliment. It shouldn’t but it does. It’s only Rush, but there’s something about his approval and admiration that makes my heart sing a rift.
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t give compliments often, which gives them so much more meaning.
Or maybe it’s because something is changing between us.
Something for the life of me I can’t explain.
Thirteen
MIA
Rush clears his throat and swiftly changes the subject.
“So do you have to come to training camp every day once you start?”
I give him a look like he’s bumped his head too many times on the turf.
“Obviously, duh. Where else am I going to work with the players?”
“Right, that was a dumb question.”
He turns back around and picks up the remote.
“So what are we watching?” he asks in a clipped tone.
He’s acting weird suddenly. Let me rephrase that, weirder. I sit down at the opposite end of my tiny couch and start making my plate.
“I don’t know, maybe something with a superhero.”
He silently starts flicking through the channels looking for an action flick to watch and mindlessly goes right past the first Thor movie.
“Hey, go back a few channels. You totally breezed right by Thor.”
“You want to watch that movie again?”
“Is that even a real question?”
His mouth flattens into a thin line as he goes back to the right movie channel.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” I finally ask, hoping he will fix his face. We had a weird minute but it’s over.
“Everything’s fine, Bird. It’s just that things are a little tense at work.”
I have to laugh at myself.
I thought things were weird because he almost kissed me, but that wasn’t it at all. It’s work stuff. Of course. Rush has little time to be concerned about anything else.
“A few of the guys are having a conflict and it’s spilling over into the locker room. I didn’t realize that you’d be starting the job this soon. I just hope everyone will be on their best behavior when they work with you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Ohhh, so that’s where you got the gash on your face?”
He nods.
“Don’t worry, I’ve worked with rowdy athletes for years. It’ll be fine. I’m not new at this.”
“You’ve worked with rowdy college players. These are grown ass men who sometimes don’t know their own strength. I was just in an all-out brawl with some of them not that long ago.”
“I’m sure that was a fluke.”
“And with your knee situation–”
“It’s all about good body mechanics in a PT room,” I cut him off. “And I promise to use my cane on the days I need to. I won’t hide it. I promise. You worry too much, paw-paw. Now mix up your salad. The dressing and some cucumbers may have sunken to the bottom.”
He sighs and shovels a fork full of the mixed green salad in his mouth. Rush doesn’t like his food to touch and only eats things on his plate one food group at a time in order of least favorite to most. Vegetables are eaten first, carbs second, and then he’ll save the meatballs for last. It’s a quirky but cute thing about him. We always used to argue in college when I wanted to order a half-plain and half-Hawaiian pizza because they would inevitably put a few pineapple chunks too close to his plain slices.
He still doesn’t look convinced, and I try to think of some comforting words to snap him out of this sudden sour mood. It feels as if he’s already regretting referring me for this job, and I can’t allow that to come between us.
“I understand your sudden reluctance. These are your friends. Your colleagues. You don’t want me breaking out in song in the training room or falling on my ass in front of them.”
“I’m not saying that at all, Mia. You’re missing the point. Forget I said anything.”
I squint my eyes as I take a bite of one of my meatballs. Dammit, I put too much oregano or something in them.
“Don’t worry so much. It’s going to be great. You and I will work at the same place, I’m starting work mid-pay-cycle so I’ll get paid next week, and my health benefits kick in on the first day of employment. No probationary period. I can keep my appointment with the ortho surgeon. This job is the gift that keeps on giving, and I will not let you put a damper on it with your worrying.”
“Fine, I’m done talking about it.”
“You’re done like you’re sick of me or done like we’re good.”
“We’re good, Bird. We’re always good.”
I stop chewing for a moment in solemn appreciation of Thor as his fine ass flashes on the screen.
“God, that man is amazing.”
“You do realize that’s computer-generated imagery making the actor look larger than life.”
“That is an absolute falsity. Each and every one of those muscles is real because one, the internet says so and two, I can tell. I work with athletic physiques for a living. Just like how I know your guns are real.”
I lean over and pat one of his ripped biceps, and Rush cracks a smile.
“You think I look like Thor?”
“I think you could easily be Chris Hemsworth’s Hollywood body double with the right blonde wig, of course.”
“The food’s good, Bird.” He grins as he heartily shovels in a forkful of his pasta next. “It tastes damn near like my Mom’s.”
My best friend has finally shown back up.
Weirdness gone.
Maybe he just needed a compliment to make his heart sing too.
“Good, I’m glad you like it.”
I lift my bad leg and prop it up on my bean bag stool.
“Is it hurting badly today?” He sounds concerned as he gently rubs the supporting muscles around my knee for me.
“I think it’s going to rain tonight. That’s probably why I ache. I should be fine by Monday.”
“Good.”
Rush polishes off the rest of his meal, finally ending with my over-seasoned meatballs, then stretches out on the couch, and pivots me around so that he can position my bum leg on top of his thighs.
Twenty-five minutes later I’m deep into a movie that I could recite line for line and Rush is deep in REM sleep.
His long eyelashes flutter as he twitches.
And both of his enormous hands still cradle my leg.
It’s not like I didn’t know it already, but good gravy he’s handsome.
Whoever the woman is, that eventually lands my bestie, is going to be one lucky mother clucker.
Fourteen
MIA
FIRST DAY AT TRAINING CAMP
“World domination greetings, Mia.”
“World domination greetings, Rush.”
“Talk to you after you kick ass at your new job today?”
“Affirmative.”
It’s always been my job to help athletes either train to stay in prime physical condition or to help them rehab after an injury, so most of the time I wear sweats. There’s not one day I’m not in a pair of sweatpants and a zipped hoodie. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been in real clothes since my Uncle John’s funeral. That’s why I’ve decided that for my first day of work, which is only going to involve a tour and paperwork, I will dress the part of a professional.
I wear a scoop neck, sleeveless, green silk blouse (my favorite color) with a dark green pencil skirt and white blazer that skims my tall and bootylicious frame perfectly. I flat iron and then smooth my medium-length hair back in a smooth ponytail, neatly braiding it and securing the end with a small black rubber band. I can no longer wear heels because of my knee, so I choose a pair of crisp white Converse that dresses the outfit down and makes me look less corporate and more NFL cool chick. Then I top the whole thing off with the two-carat diamond stud earrings Rush bought me the first Christmas after he signed with the Nighthawks.
I look good if I do say so myself.
Today’s drive in the green goblin is all about hype music. My playlist is 90s hip hop featuring the Wu-Tang Clan as I travel twenty-five minutes to the team’s summer training camp facilities a few towns over in Central New Jersey. I am admittedly excited about today for a lot of reasons, but feel totally centered since Rush called me this morning with our traditional pregame pep call.
