“Where did you say we’re going?”
He smirks. “I didn’t. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”
“I hope it’s not fancy,” I say before yawning widely. “I’m not dressed for it.”
“Not fancy,” he assures me and tips my head back, his finger under my chin, and kisses me sweetly at first, and then more deeply, as if he hasn’t touched me in weeks.
We drive outside of the city, where lights are fewer and fewer, making the dark settle in. We seem to be following the coast. The cab pulls off the freeway, and then turns onto a smaller two-lane road that meanders for a few miles before ending at a huge iron gate.
“Stop here,” Declan says and disentangles himself from me. “I’ll be right back.”
Before I can say anything, he jumps out of the car, walks to the speaker box and talks into it. The gate begins to roll away as he joins me.
“This is all very 007 of you,” I say, my curiosity piqued.
“It’s not that dramatic,” he says with a laugh as the cab pulls through and stops at the entrance of a beautiful two-story stone house. It’s craftsman in style, spread out and simply breathtaking.
I wish I could see it in the daylight.
I can hear the ocean not far away. “Are we near the beach?”
“Yes,” Declan says with a smile after he pays the cab and leads me to the door. “This house is on cliffs that sit above the Sound.”
“Wow.”
The door swings open and a pretty, small blonde woman smiles widely. A tall, slender, tattooed man is standing right behind her. He has a sleeve that runs down over his hand and to his fingers, and I’d recognize that face anywhere.
“Hi! I’m Samantha. You must be Callie. Declan has told us a lot about you. This is my husband—”
“Leo Nash,” I reply for her and feel myself blush. “Sorry. I’m a fan.”
“And I’m flattered,” Leo replies and shakes my hand. “Hey, Dec.”
“Hey,” Declan says and the two do the man-hug thing that I don’t understand in the least, as Samantha leads us all into the heart of the home: the kitchen.
“Your home is beautiful, Samantha.” I’m trying to absorb it all at once, and it’s impossible. The style is contemporary, with little pops of rustic and shabby chic thrown in here and there. The combination is both homey and eye-catching.
“Thanks. You can call me Sam,” she says with a grin. “We just finished building it about a year ago. I think we just about have it the way we want it.”
I nod, just as the doorbell rings, and rather than waiting for someone to answer it, the door is opened. “Hey guys! We’re here.”
“Oh good,” Sam says and all I can do is pray to God that I don’t have the stupid dog look on my face. Because Will Montgomery just walked through that door.
“Will, this is the friend I told you about, Declan Boudreaux,” Leo says. “And his girlfriend, Callie.”
“It’s good to meet you both,” Will says, shaking our hands. “This is my wife, Meg.”
I shake myself out of my stupor to see a beautiful redhead standing next to him. She’s rocking a boho chic style of clothing that I wish with all my might I could pull off. She also has tats on her arm, and she’s smiling kindly.
“I’m not a cook,” Sam warns us all as we congregate in the kitchen. “I didn’t want to risk killing any of you, so I ordered in from Palomino downtown.”
“And I picked up some cupcakes from Nic’s bakery,” Leo adds. “I helped.”
“Yes, you were an integral part of the process,” Sam says and rolls her eyes.
“Nic is our sister in law,” Will-mother-fucking-Montgomery informs me. “She owns a bakery in Seattle. And I hope you got a lot of them because I’m hungry as hell.”
“You’re always hungry,” Meg says and shakes her head. “Feeding him is the same as feeding a third-world country.”
“Best cupcakes in the world,” Sam says as she pulls warming dishes out of the oven and sets everything out in her gourmet kitchen buffet-style.
“I like your jersey,” Will says to me with a smile. “Except the wrong name is on the back.”
I’m beginning to relax now, not exactly sure how I feel about having dinner with a rock star and a football hero, but at least I can breathe.
Kind of.
“No, it’s not,” I reply and link my fingers with Declan’s as I lean against the kitchen island.
“It doesn’t say Montgomery,” Will says, as if I’m slow.
“No. It doesn’t. Sanders is my favorite player,” I reply with a laugh.
“What?” He covers his heart, as though he’s been stabbed and is dying a slow death. “This hurts.”
“Sanders is an excellent running back, and when you managed to throw the ball at someone on your own team today, he’s the one that ran it in for a touchdown.”
Silence descends on the room for several long seconds, and then everyone, including Will, busts up laughing.
“I like her,” Sam says, wiping tears from the corner of her eye. “She can stay.”
“Well, despite the abuse you’re slinging at me, I had the team sign the game ball for you today.” He jogs over to the entryway and returns with the ball, then passes it to me.
“Wow, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”