Playing to Win
Page 18

She’d underestimated him. Admittedly, she’d thought he was average—a player at the midpoint of his career with the attitude and chip on his shoulder to match. Watching him today she realized he was anything but.
With his talent, health, and stamina, Cole had a lot of seasons left. He could be an MVP if he concentrated more on the game and positive influences and less on getting in trouble.
That’s why she had her job. She was going to make sure this was a great season for him and just the beginning of great things.
She met him outside the locker room after he took his shower.
“You still here?”
“I am.” She followed him down the hall. “You had a great practice today. You looked amazing.”
That got a twitch of a smile from him. “Honey, I am amazing.”
“Your modesty touches me.”
He laughed. “I did have a good day today. Thanks for your help.”
She craned her neck to look up at him. “My help with what?”
“I spent some time with the other receivers, and I offered advice to Kenny. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“I’m glad.”
They headed outside.
“You’d make a good coach,” he said.
She let out a soft laugh. “That’s not really my area, but thank you for thinking so.”
He walked her to her car, opened the door for her. She turned to face him. “Do you have plans for dinner tonight?”
He’d put on his sunglasses so she couldn’t see his eyes, but she imagined he was surprised by her question. “Uh, no. Why? Are we still on the clock?”
“I’m on the clock twenty-four hours a day. I thought we’d have dinner.”
“All right. What did you have in mind?”
“Actually, something simple. If you don’t mind, I’ll bring some food over to your place and cook for you.”
“You cook?”
“I do.”
He leaned an arm against the top of her car. “Are you a good cook?”
“I’m an excellent one.”
“It just so happens I like food. Fixed by excellent cooks. Come on over.”
“Does seven work for you?”
He seemed to be staring at her, and she wished she could see his eyes. “That works fine. See you then.”
She slid into the car and he shut the door, then walked away.
She couldn’t help the thrill of anticipation, but tamped it down immediately.
This was work, not a date, which she mentally reminded herself all the way back to her place. Her body, though, had other ideas. It tingled in all the wrong places.
Work.
Not. A. Date.
ELEVEN
COLE PICKED UP THE HOUSE, WASHED THE DISHES IN the sink, and even ran the vacuum cleaner in anticipation of Savannah’s arrival. On impulse, he changed the sheets on his bed, then laughed, wondering what the hell he was doing.
Savannah wasn’t going to end up in his bed tonight. She was cooking him dinner. That was all.
But she had been throwing out some pretty clear signals lately. And despite what happened that night at the wedding, she’d wanted him to kiss her at his parents’ house.
Or maybe that was just his imagination. His imagination liked to think that every woman wanted to get into his pants.
He’d sure as hell like to get into Savannah’s. But it would be a smart idea to keep things between them professional. She’d made some keen observations about him on the field today. He could use her expertise, and screwing things up between them with sex might f**k up their relationship. He could end up losing her, and right now that would be bad.
He needed her. He might not know much about this whole image consulting thing, but he knew a good thing when he had it, and so far Savannah’s advice hadn’t hurt.
Getting his carrer on the right track was his number one priority and he needed to be smart and remember that.
Then again, when had he ever done the smart thing?
He threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then organized the living room so it wouldn’t look like a jock lived there.
When the doorbell rang, he did a once-over of the place and decided it was going to have to be good enough.
He opened the door and held his breath. Her hair was down, like a waterfall of gold around her shoulders. She wore a yellow sundress and sandals—cute and casual, but she still managed to look elegant and beautiful.
He took the grocery bag from her hands. “I would have bought this stuff.”
“It’s no problem. Next time, you buy.”
“Deal.” He led her into the kitchen.
“I assume you have pots and pans.”
“Yes. My mom insisted I not live on take-out food. I know how to make basic stuff.”
Savannah laughed. “I can imagine her saying that to you.”
He showed her the layout of his kitchen and she started grabbing things while he unpacked groceries.
“I like steak.”
“Good, because you’re cooking them. I also made an assumption that you have a grill.”
“You assumed right.”
She got out a plate and did some basting and seasoning to the steak, but not a lot, which made him happy. Meat should taste like meat, not like other junk. She slid the steaks off to the side, then pulled out lobster.
He arched a brow. “Aren’t you fancy.”
“I like seafood.”
She set water boiling in two pans. One for the lobster and one for the rice dish she was making.
“You get your grill ready. I’ve got everything covered in here.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
He went outside to start the grill, watching her through the sliding glass door.
It was interesting having a woman in his kitchen, something that had never happened here before. She looked—cute. Domestic. Comfortable. He sure as hell never had a woman come over and cook for him. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he didn’t invite people over to his place. It was too personal. If he spent the night with a woman, it was at her place, or at a hotel. There were no sleepovers here, no fixing breakfast in the morning together, no spending the day together. That had always seemed too close to a relationship and he steered clear of those. Building his career was enough of a full-time job. Dragging a woman into the mess that was his life would be more than he could handle. He wasn’t ready.
Though he sure seemed to be doing a lot of relationship-type things with Savannah. Going out for dinner. Having her over to his parents’ house. Dancing with her at his cousin’s wedding. Then again, maybe all those things were coincidence—just the nature of her job and the fact they always seemed to end up together lately.
And relationships were things he sure as hell didn’t want to be thinking about right now. Or ever. Time to focus on food, work, and keeping his priorities straight.
Once the fire was hot enough, he went inside.
Savannah was conducting a symphony. Music played on her iPod. She was dancing as she moved from one task to another. Pots littered the stove. She was preparing lettuce, slicing strawberries, and boiling something that smelled really good. He stayed still, leaning against the doorway to watch as she hummed along to the music, comfortable in his kitchen.
There was that word again—comfortable. He waited for his own discomfort to set in. It didn’t.
She turned around and spotted him. “How long have you been there?”
“Awhile.”
She grinned, not at all concerned that he’d been spying on her routine. “I can’t help myself. Being in the kitchen relaxes me.” She handed him the steaks. “Go cook. I like mine medium.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He got out of her way and did his thing, and let her do hers. By the time he brought the finished steaks in, she had the lobster tail on plates, along with rice and a bed of lettuce for the steaks.
He gave her the plate and she scooped the steaks onto the lettuce, then poured sauce over them, sprinkled a little cheese and a few strawberries over the top of the meat. He frowned.
She laid her hand over his. “I know—you like your steak na**d. But trust me.” She handed him a plate and they moved to the table.
She’d already poured wine for both of them, so they sat and he dug into the steak, his first inclination to brush away the stuff on the top of the meat. But he didn’t want to insult her, so he scooped the strawberries and cheese into his mouth along with the steak.
“Oh, god,” he said after he swallowed. Who knew those flavors would go so well together? “What the hell is this sauce?”
She took a sip of wine, then smiled. “I told you to trust me. I wouldn’t ruin a great steak. It’s just a balsamic reduction, some blue cheese, and the sweetness of the strawberries bring out the flavor.”
“It’s really good.” So was the lobster. Perfectly tender, and she’d even provided melted butter. “Can you come over every night and cook for me?”
“I thought you said you cooked.”
“Eggs. Bacon. Tuna. Burgers. Basic stuff. I’m no gourmet cook like you.”
Her cheeks darkened pink. “I’m hardly a gourmet cook. I do like to dabble here and there with different recipes when I have some free time.”
“You’re very good at it. This is great food.”
“Thank you.”
“Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Television cooking shows, the Internet, and a lot of practice.”
He ate everything on his plate, and what was left on Savannah’s that she didn’t finish. After that he did the dishes, since she’d done most of the work on the cooking, though he wasn’t able to kick her out of his kitchen. She stood by and helped him load the dishwasher, and when she wasn’t doing that she was cleaning off the stove, counter, and table and putting things away, despite his suggestion that she take her glass of wine and sit down.
“Don’t you ever relax?” he asked as he dried his hands on the dish towel.
“This is relaxing for me. It’s what I do after a long day. I cook. I clean up.”
He shook his head. “This is work.”
She laughed. “Not to me it isn’t. I travel so much that most of the time I eat restaurant food or room service. To be able to eat a home-cooked meal is heaven for me. To cook it myself is a double bonus.”
Women were odd creatures.
No, Savannah was an odd creature. Most of the women he went out with were perfectly content to have him take them out for a pricey dinner. Not once had any woman offered to cook him a meal.
She was unique.
He led them into the living room. Savannah took a seat at the end of the sofa. He almost sat in the chair across from her, to maintain that professional distance and all, but decided on the sofa, too. “What you said about being at home? I know what you mean. Once the season starts we’re either on the road and when we have a home game we’re at practice. Not that I’m a big cook to start with, but I’m tired by the time I get home, so I’ll grab something on the way. I eat a lot of take-out food. Don’t tell my mom.”
Her lips lifted. “Your secret is safe with me.” She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her on the sofa.
“You’re a woman of many talents, Savannah.”
“Not really. I just like to cook. And men are easily impressed by a woman who knows how to cook. It caters to one of their base needs.”
“Food and sex.”
“Exactly.”
“So you’re saying I’m easy?”
“No. I’m saying you’re a man.”
He laughed. She had a dry wit and could send a subtle zinger with her sarcasm using that sweet Southern voice of hers. He had to admit, he liked that.
But he liked strong women, not ones who would cry if you looked at them the wrong way. She wasn’t the type of woman to manipulate a man with tears to get what she wanted. He couldn’t see her ever doing something like that, since she was so straight-up honest. She was sweet on the outside, but she was tough. He’d given her a hard time in a lot of ways and she hadn’t yet folded.
She set her wine on the table and shifted to face him. “I want to talk to you about some suggestions I have.”
“Work-related suggestions?”
She cocked her head a little to the side. “Of course.”
“Not tonight.” He stood and grabbed her wineglass, went into the kitchen and refilled it. When he came back, he could see she was confused.
“Look, Peaches. I appreciate your cooking me dinner, and I enjoy your company, but I’m not all about working twenty-four hours a day.” He handed the glass to her. “Sit back and relax.”
She took the glass from him. “My job is to work with you to repair your image.”
“And we are working on that, aren’t we?”
“We’ve barely scratched the surface. I have a plan.”
“I’ll just bet you do. But we’re not going to get into that tonight.”
“Really. And what are we going to get into tonight?”
He liked the sound of her voice, the soft, sexy way she asked that question, almost in invitation. He didn’t think he was reading anything that wasn’t there. He was smart enough to know the difference between a woman who was interested and a woman who wasn’t. And while he’d promised himself he was going to keep it professional, she was the one opening the door now.
“I thought maybe we’d just hang out together tonight. Get to know each other a little better.”
The look she gave him almost made him laugh. She looked tense, maybe even a little horrified.