Quarterback Draw

It was Grant. She thought about ignoring his call, but that would be rude. Not that she wasn’t an expert at rudeness, but he’d been so nice to her and the kids, so she at least owed him an answer to his call.

“Hello, Grant.”

“Hi. How was your shoot today?”

“It went well, thank you. What did you do today?”

“Not much. Day off, so I worked out and cleaned my garage.”

She tried to get a mental visual of him working in his garage. All sweaty, maybe his shirt off.

More dangerous thoughts.

“I see. Sounds relaxing, I suppose.”

“I was thinking of barbecuing some chicken for dinner and wanted to invite you over.”

She couldn’t imagine him doing that, either. “Oh, well, I have an early call tomorrow, so …”

She wanted to let him off easy. She’d thought a lot about him—about that kiss he’d given her the other night. She was attracted to him. Too attracted.

It was time to back away.

“I promise to have you back to your hotel in time for curfew. Whatever time that is. I’d really like to see you, Kat.”

Well … crap. And the problem was, she wanted to see him, too.

Wasn’t that the problem?

She should say no. End this, before things got even more complicated than they already were.

But the words spilled out of her mouth before she had a chance to pull them back. “Sure. What time?”

So much for listening to her inner voice.

“How about I pick you up … uh, let’s say about four o’clock?”

“That sounds fine. I’ll be outside so you don’t have to park.”

“Okay. I’ll call you when I’m close so you don’t have to linger outside too long. See you then.”

She hung up, then stared at her phone.

Clearly, there was something wrong with her. Normally, she had no problem saying no to men. She said no all the time, because she got asked out all the time. She’d said no politely, and not so politely, depending on who was asking. She was an expert at turning men down.

But for some reason, she hadn’t yet figured out how to say no to Grant Cassidy.

Maybe she should stop thinking of all the reasons to say no. Maybe she’d let her fears guide her for too long. Grant was gorgeous and hot, and of all the men she’d ever been tempted by, he was the most—

Tempting.

She’d thought a lot about her conversation with Savannah, about having some fun.

Grant could definitely be fun. Not a forever thing, but a temporary fling. Or at least a gorgeous man to hang out with.

There was absolutely nothing threatening about that.

THIRTEEN

AFTER HE’D GOTTEN OFF THE PHONE WITH KATRINA, Grant had spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning his house.

The place was a wreck. As a bachelor, he didn’t much care what it looked like on most days, unless his parents were coming for a visit. Then he usually brought in a cleaning service to scour the place from top to bottom, because if there was one thing his mom didn’t stand for, it was a messy house. When he’d lived at home, as soon as you were old enough to hold a broom in your hand, empty trash, or do dishes, you had a chore, and it didn’t matter if you were a guy or a girl. Mom wanted everyone to grow up and be able to fend for themselves. Even cooking.

He was grateful he’d been taught to cook, though he’d sworn when he’d stood at the stove and was taught to make pasta sauce that someday he was going to eat takeout every single night for the rest of his natural life. That lasted until he’d eaten takeout for two weeks straight. Didn’t take him long to figure out that fast food every night got boring fast and maybe his mother was smarter than he’d ever given her credit for.

But he’d never really grabbed the virtue of keeping the house neat. He had a cleaning lady come in once every two weeks so mold didn’t grow in places it wasn’t supposed to. Otherwise, he threw his dirty socks on the floor and dishes tended to pile up. When he ran out of usable dishes, he washed them. It was a system that worked for him, and unless he had someone coming over, who cared, right?

Like today, with Katrina. It had been a week since the cleaning service had been to the house so he was going to have to do it himself.

So he’d scrubbed the toilets and wiped down the counters in the bathrooms, loaded the dishwasher, and thoroughly cleaned the kitchen, then vacuumed the entire house, picking up everything that he’d carelessly tossed in all the wrong places.

It had taken him a couple of hours, and by then he was a sweaty filthy mess, which he’d already been after working in the garage, so he’d taken a shower and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then hopped in his car to pick up Katrina at her hotel.