“Thanks. Grill’s this way.” He motioned for her to follow him out to the deck. He carried a platter of food in one hand.
With the flick of a switch, gas lamps ignited, casting a romantic glow over the brick floor and glass-topped patio table. She whistled low. “When you do something, you do it right.”
He picked up the tongs that hung on the side of the grill and waved them in a circle. “I didn’t decorate, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Who did?” She pulled herself up onto a barstool-height swiveling chair so she could watch him cook. She was usually the one cooking for a date. This was a nice change.Hewas a nice change. Different from the accountants and feed salesmen she’d dated in the past.
“I hired a company from LA. Showed them a few pictures.”
“And they put this all together for you?”
He smiled shyly. “Yeah.” As fast as the smile was there, it was gone again. In its place was a wall of aloofness that pushed against the attraction rising up within her chest. He turned his back to her, cutting off all conversation.
The change from friendly guy to grumpy guy was as confusing as it was abrupt. She retreated, staring down at the table and rubbing her arms for warmth even though the temperature was warm. Why did he bring her here if he didn’t want her in his home?
“I hope you like salmon.” The grill hissed and popped to life. Blue flames licked the air.
“I do.” She gripped the edge of her seat, wondering what she’d done to make him angry. Her earlier insecurities about spending time with someone so different from her resurfaced.
“Good. This should be ready in a few minutes. There’s a bathroom that way if you’d like to freshen up.”
She would. “Thanks.” She walked through the kitchen and down a small hallway. The bathroom was the first door on the left. Her bathroom at home had enough room for a tub, a toilet, and a vanity two inches wider than the sink. She could have done ballet in this bathroom. The rugs were furry, and she was tempted to take off her shoes and walk around just so she could feel them against her feet.
A large basket full of soaps and washcloths sat on the counter. She wet one of the cloths under the faucet and blotted her face and the back of her neck. What was with Owen? He’d shut off like the faucet. She wasn’t the type to pander to a guy; had she hurt his feelings by not fawning over him? He didn’t seem like the type to need constant ego boosting, but she didn’t really know him all that well. She patted her cheeks with the cool cloth. She was so out of her depth with a guy like him.
Well, the evening wasn’t going to end any faster with her hiding out in the bathroom. She took one more look at herself in the mirror. Her hair wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. She finger-combed it before rummaging through the drawers to find a brush. No such luck. At least her mascara had held up. She could get through a meal and then ask him to take her home. Yep. That was the plan.
When she got back to the deck, Owen was at the grill. His hair was damp but styled and his long-sleeved black biking shirt was replaced with a short-sleeved polo. As she walked by, the smell of men’s soap tantalized her senses. The cheater showered and looked incredible while she could use another coat of lipstick and a lash-curler.
So. Out of. Her Depth.
* * *
Owen shouldn’t have brought Bree to his house. She looked too right walking through his kitchen. Too perfect. They were supposed to be friends, or becoming friends, and he had all these ideas that had nothing to do with friendship and everything to do with making her a part of his life.
Bree shouldn’t want him, but he could see the desire in her eyes. She had zero filters thanks to that innocence she wore like a barrette in her hair. And the way she’d leaned against him during the ride had brought more than friendly feelings to the surface. He wanted her in his arms, wanted to hold her to his chest, kiss her to oblivion, and then start all over again. That’s why he’d taken a quick shower. Showers were quick mental resets. He could be worn to the bone after two-a-day practices, take a shower, and be refreshed for the ride home.
Bree wasn’t making it easy to stay friends—not with her disheveled appearance, like she’d woken up from a nap, rested, refreshed, and totally kissable. He needed to get kissing off his mind. They were in his home, his sanctuary, and his defenses were down. And he couldn’t come up with a single thing to talk about.
Silence stretched between them as he turned the salmon, becoming tense and twisting tighter and tighter until he thought he would need ram his way out of the walls closing in.
“Did you know that during WWII a lot of the NFL players went to war, and that the 1943 Philadelphia Eagles and Steelers had to merge into one team?”
He closed his eyes, thankful she was making an effort, but her voice was like silk on his skin. “What did they call it?”
“The Steagles.”
He laughed despite himself. The Steagles? With the laugh, the pressure eased. This wasBree. Bree thelibrarian. She’d said they couldn’t be a couple, that she was a nerdy girl in high school who loved reading and being in the school library—a place he only went into to update the Wi-Fi password on his phone. “You made that up.”
She lifted her nose. “I would never.”
“Prove it.”
“Fine.” She tugged his phone out of his back pocket without touching him. The act had a familiarity that was like a massage on sore muscles.
Less than a minute later, she flipped the phone around and revealed a line of football players in green jerseys with tan pants and the old helmets. “Do you believe me now?”
“How do I know you didn’t put up that picture just to fake me out?”