Page 14 of A Quarterback for Christmas

Thumbing the chocolate, I push my chin out. “Firstly, you’re a playboy, so I can already see you’re about as dirty as a used dishrag. No need to play a game to find that out. Secondly, I’m on pain meds, and as trippy as it might sound to combine those with alcohol, I don’t do that in the presence of people I don’t trust.”

“Geez, Bella. It’s not like we’ve known each other for nearly a decade or anything.”

“Can’t be too careful,” I sing, opening the yellow wrapper ever-so-slightly.

“You’re right about that. That’s why I got you the chocolate bar. There’s no way I’m risking getting accused of touching you inappropriately. Especially when you can’t move.”

“Why don’t we play Monopoly instead?” I gesture toward the game boxes under the TV. “Who knows, it could take us days to finish, and we won’t have to talk.”

“No.” Drew quips. “That’s not happening.” He grabs the remote and turns the TV on. “If you don’t want to play ‘Never Have I Ever,’ then we’ll watch some TV. Do you like sports? I know your Dad does, but I’ve never been sure you were a willing participant, considering you hardly ever attended his games in high school.”

“That’s because he was worried we’d jinx him. I may not like football, but I would always want to support my dad.”

“Don’t I know it,” Drew mumbles.

A stadium fills the screen, and instantly I know the game is being played in Florida. It’s not just the sandy beaches peeking from the corners of the screen, but it’s the fact that the players are in short sleeves, flaunting their hot, muscular arms. God, Iwish I was there right now, wearing my cute flippy skirt instead of Drew’s day-old basketball shorts.

“I’d rather watch paint dry than sit through this,” I lie. If I’m being honest, if my dad weren’t so obsessed with it, I think I might enjoy watching football with Drew. There’s a lot of strategy, and it can get tense when the clock runs down.

“Okay, then.” He flicks through the channels a few times because nothing catches his eye. “What aboutBaseball Wives? I know it’s still technically sports, but I read somewhere that they’re doing aBachelor-style spin off on it next year.”

I slide my eyes to his and state a short and simple, “No.”

Cricking his neck, he adjusts himself in the seat. “Okay. How about a Christmas movie?” I toss a pillow under my neck, trying to get a little more comfortable and forget the annoying itch developing under my cast. “The Grinch, maybe? Bet it’s your favorite.” The humor in his voice is only solidified by the smirk running across his face.

“No, thanks,” I respond with a surly attitude.

“Oh, this is perfect.” He doesn’t ask, he just puts it on, and the gawky face of Macaulay Culkin fills the screen. Slapping his cheeks with aftershave, he screams and Drew throws his head back in laughter. “Home Aloneis one of my favorites.”

“I can tell.”

Still chuckling, he wipes away a few errant tears from laughing so hard. “I partly love it because he’s got my last name.”

Drew keeps his eyes trained on the screen, and I soften a little when I see the joy sprawled across his face. “How very…narcissistic of you,” I joke.

Grabbing the navy St. Michael’s blanket from the top of the sofa, I drape it over my cast, more specifically my toes, to keep them warm. “It wasn’t just the name.” Leaning his elbow on the side of the sofa, he doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “My mom used to work on Christmas Eve, and watching this movie alwaysmade me feel like if this little McCallister kid could defend his giant home, then I could defend our tiny one-bedroom apartment too.”

My stomach knots and my body deflates because that admission just ruined the mood. Here I am, thinking we’re loosening up, but then he has to go and admit that. A one-bedroom apartment? Alone at Christmas? Now I feel like crap ever complaining about my dad’s sometime absences to win football championships.

I don’t know what to say, and it seems neither does he. He knows he said too much, and now neither one of us can concentrate on the movie. Without talking, Drew gets a couple of pillows and lifts my cast. “What are you doing?” I ask as he stuffs them under my leg.

“Trying to make my guest feel comfortable.” Swallowing, I watch his hand subtly caress my cast. Thank goodness I can’t feel his fingers because I’d probably wither into nothingness at the caress of those thick digits across my skin. The last five minutes have turned Drew from an arrogant jock to a guy with a soul, and I don’t know if I like it.

“If this doesn’t feel good…” He presses his fingers against my cast. “You can use my lap as a base instead.” I can’t feel his fingers. The cast is too thick, but the meds must be playing with me, because I feel soft tingles making their way up my thigh to my core.

“I think I’ll stick with the couch, thanks.” I purse my lips because being rude feels wrong since he’s helping me out, but it’s the only way I know how to be with him.

Drew shifts positions on the sofa and shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

We sit in this oddly comfortable silence for the next thirty minutes watchingHome Alone.I’ve never been so relaxed in Drew’s company, but that could be the painkillers talking. Speaking of, I’m probably due another round. My eyes drift tomy bag, which is too far away to get to without having to crawl, and asking Drew for help is out of the question. I’m already in his house, about to eat his roommate’s burritos. I don’t want him waiting on me hand and foot because then I’ll owe him. And owing Drew would put me in dangerous territory.

When the oven buzzes, Drew heads to the modern black kitchen. “Stay there.” He holds his hands out, smiling. “I got this. I don’t need your help.”

“Very funny.”

“I’ll bring the burritos over in a sec. You okay with another orange soda?”

I nod because I still can’t bring myself to speak or be pleasant. I’m all too aware that I haven’t bothered to say thank you for anything, but that’s because my pride is stopping me. Something about appreciating Drew just feels wrong. Even when he strolls back into the room with piping hot burritos and a smile that could light up New York City, I can’t do it.

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