Page 24 of Quarterback Sneak

“Hey, Ivy. Nice picture of you on-line.” Aaron retrieved a beer for himself and twisted the top.

Ivy stiffened at the sound of her name and settled her feet back on the ground. She stared at Aaron, face paling. “What picture?”

“Aaron, I told you not to bring that stupid picture up.” Beth made to grab his phone but he held it out of her reach.

“Why not, Love? She’s bound to see it sometime.” Aaron flipped through the device until he found what he sought and handed it to Ivy. “At first, everyone Tweeted it was some homeless person, then it started going around that it was the model Sam dated, the Sports Illustrated one.”` “A supermodel? Really, Sam?” Ivy snapped her head around, judgment shooting from her eyes.

“Gabriella and I were on the cover together. We never dated.” He crossed his arms and raised a challenging brow, daring her to say more. Sam had a past and he couldn’t cover it up nor would he apologize for it.

“Can I see it?” Jaw tight, Ivy snatched the phone from Aaron’s hand before he could respond and stared down at the grainy picture.

Sam placed his arm around her waist and felt a slight hesitation before she leaned into him—a good sign after her negative reaction to Gabriella—and tilted the picture for him to view. It showed them at the Market seconds after they’d spied the construction crew. His arm was extended in the direction of her back and she was looking at the ground.

“With your head down and your profile to the camera, the picture is barely recognizable as you.” Sam offered her waist a reassuring squeeze. Gabriella might be ascetically beautiful but she didn’t hold a candle to Ivy.

“Aaron is right. I do look like a vagrant. Thankfully, you can’t see my face.” Ivy relaxed a bit and flashed a relieved smile. “Ok, enough distractions. Everything is ready except for the pasta. Beth, are you up for rolling some dough?”

“Sounds like these two will be cooking all night. Not the first time, mind you. I’m the lead singer of Aussie Madness and we’ve got a gig tonight on Lenora. Want to come? I’ll get you a good table,” Aaron said.

“I appreciate the invitation but I have practice in the morning.” Sam had never liked bars and loud music tended to bring on a headache. Shit, he sounded like an old man.

“Oh yea, you’ve got to be on your game, especially with the contract—”

Beth elbowed the man and tried to stare him down. “Aaron wouldn’t ask you about the contract because he promised.”

Seemingly nonplussed, Aaron drained his beer and then tossed the empty bottle into a nearby garbage can. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“You’d better be getting to the club,” Beth said.

“Shit, yeah.” He leaned over and kissed Beth. Ignoring Ivy, he shook Sam’s hand. “Nice to meet you, man. So I’m throwing Beth a birthday party next month. You should come and if you want to bring some of the guys from the team...”

“Out, now,” Beth said, dragging him away. Once they reached the door, he swung her around, pinned her to the door, and kissed her again.

Sam turned his back on the couple, envious of their antics. Ten minutes ago, he was about to have sex with Ivy.

Ivy stood by the stove and a glower creasing her forehead.

He groaned inside, hopes dashed at the sight. “You don’t like him much.” Sam spoke low enough to keep the observation between them.

“No, I don’t.” She glared in Beth and Aaron’s direction. In the few minutes he talked to the guy, he hadn’t warmed up to him either. By the way he knocked back the beer, he was used to drinking heavily. Sam recognized the signs. He’d experienced them enough times from Patrick on one of his many benders.

The reminder intruded on his once lightened mood and threatened to take him down a dark path, one he avoided as diligently as Patrick had pursued it. His father was in the past, a stark example of how someone so promising could waste away from addiction. He placed his hand on the back of Ivy’s neck and rubbed the tight muscles.

“Bye,” Aaron called out and the door slammed behind him.

Beth looped an apron around her waist, her lipstick smeared, and a glassy look about her eyes. “So what’s up, chef?”

“Are you drunk?” Ivy asked, slamming the pot on the counter.

Beth shrugged and grabbed up a container of flour. “I had a few beers. We had dinner with friends. Not to worry, I’m perfectly capable of making the pasta. I can do it in my sleep.”

From Ivy’s annoyed expression, a fight was brewing. Alcohol and tempers never mixed well. The strain in the room increased with each glare between the two women. His muscles tensed of their own accord and his temples started to throb in anticipation for the inevitable fight.

Ivy retrieved the eggs and milk and dropped them on the counter with a satisfying thud. “Tomorrow is the most important day of my career. If you had no true interest in helping me out, you should have just said so.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Beth slammed a bowl onto the metal surface, the loud clang jarring in the room.

Beth’s steadily increasing juvenile behavior ate at Ivy. She’d been drinking a lot lately and this was the second time in a month she’d shown up to work inhibited by alcohol. “My problem is you’re not simply a cook anymore. You’re my sous chef and I depend on you. You can’t be getting drunk and come to work and not expect me to be pissed.”

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