Page 54 of A Quarterback for Christmas

I call out his name again, but the clattering pans drown me out. Pans? Is he making me breakfast? I squeal in excitement because Drew is making me feel things I’ve never felt before. He looks at me like I’m precious. Almost like I’m a princess, and I’m here for it.

Using the wall to steady myself, I carefully walk down the hallway, trying to remember where I left my crutches.

“Would you like another coffee, sir?”

Sir?

I stop. He’s not talking to me.

“Black coffee is fine.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This can’t be happening? I swallow a gasp as I stumble back. That voice. The only voice that can destroy me with his laidback disapproval.

My dad.

When the hell did he get here?Howthe hell did he get here? Weren’t the airports still closed?

Disappointment slithers through my veins. My father’s here, which means it’s over. The little snow globe of a world we built over the last few days is finished.

“Here you go, sir.” Nervousness drips from Drew’s voice as the china clinks together. He had to be as surprised as me, right?

Staggering back into Drew’s room, I crawl to my suitcase, find my oldest pair of track pants, and shove them on. Then I quickly look in the mirror and comb my hair with my fingers, only to drop my hands to my side. It’s useless. I’ve got sex hair, and the only way to hide it would be with a long, hot shower. Alone.

Instead, I grab the only scrunchie I have with me and pull it up into a messy bun. At least that makes me look less like I’ve been well and truly fucked for the last eight hours. There’s noway I’ll let my dad think I’m sleeping with his star quarterback, especially when I haven’t talked to said quarterback about what yesterday means for us. If anything.

Gah. What was I thinking? Had the snow made me lose my mind? I slept with Drew. More times than I can count.

I shake my head, knowing I need to go out there and pretend everything was fine. I slap my face, drawing some color across my cheeks and make my way to the kitchen as casually as I can. With a fake smile plastered across my face, I think I’ve got it all under control.

Unfortunately, it all blows out of the window when I stumble like a newborn deer into the room.

“Uh, hey, Dad,” I say through the pain after that awkward step. “What are you doing here?”

My dad spins on the barstool, and that wide grin he had for Drew drops as he takes me in. “Belly,” he says with no emotion.

As I look between my father and Drew, my stomach pits out.

What the fuck am I doing?

Drew is looking at me the same way an over-eager labrador looks at his lunch, and my dad… well, he’s looking at my giant green boot in disappointment.

My running career is just another thing I fucked up at this point.

What’s he going to think when he finds out I slept with the guy he considers a son?

“After your mother mentioned she gave you her lasagna recipe, I had to come and make sure you weren’t poisoning one of my best players.”

He came back for Drew?

I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can break up a decade long bromance, for what? Sex? I don’t know what Drew wants from me, but if it’s a relationship, I don’t think I can do it.

“After checking him over, I can safely confirm you didn’t kill him. Although, I’m sure you’d like to from time to time.” There he goes again, making me the butt of all his jokes.

I give my dad a small, forced smile because I didn’t want to get into it in front of Drew, not that I would ever have the guts to say something to my dad. What was the point? He’d just say I was jealous and imagining things. It’s just it doesn’t feel like I’m imagining it when he told me a few days ago he’d be lucky to make it here for the New Year, but here we are, a day before Christmas and he’s here to check on Drew.

Heat rises in my cheeks; this time, it’s not because Drew is giving me that knowing, sexy smirk of his. It’s because I’m embarrassed at the reminder that even stuck in a snowstorm with a broken leg, football will always be my father’s priority.

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