Page 23 of Not Just a Trick Play

Amelia moves to the spot across me and, with ninja-like skills, slips into the seat without the slightest scrape or scuffle.

“Doing what?”

I open my mouth to reveal what I do, that I could cover the cost of a hotel or ten.

“I’m a professional—” Football player. That’s what I’m about to say. Until the voice of God (strangely like Jessica’s) echoes in my head. Amelia doesn’t strike me as someone to worry about, though her sudden appearance with Yvonne is a head-scratcher. For now, I’ll watch and wait and enjoy needling her because I can’t resist.

After a beat, she ventures, “Adult movie star?” I think she means it to be helpful.

So apparently my newest thing is compounding clusterfucks, as the next gem out of me is, “I work in…entertainment.”

Technically, not a lie. A two-word omission. “Football player” is just a subset of “entertainment.” ESPN is basically a muscly soap opera channel.

She looks me up and down, skepticism palpable in those blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. “And are you good at what you do?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AMELIA

“He’s very good.”Jeanine walks in from the kitchen just in time to hear my question, a steaming casserole in her hands. She drops a kiss on the crown of Jake’s head, her eyes shimmering with motherly pride before setting the dish on the dining table. “He’s quite a catch, really. That’s why I don’t know why he hasn’t found himself a nice girl yet.”

Oh, I could tell her why… It could have something to do with the fact that her darling boy may have not-so-darling proclivities. But I’m not about to out her son when she’s gracious enough to have me over.

I sneak another peek at Jake. Between those broad shoulders and that annoyingly perfect jawline, I can see how he might be in “entertainment.” The man should come with a warning label. And he’s offering to pay for my hotel (which is very generous, in a sugar-daddy kind of way). So, while I don’t think adult film star for real, the image has possibilities. But he lives with his mum. Perhaps porn stars don’t earn as much these days, given all the amateurs posting their shenanigans online?

I turn my attention back to Jeanine. His poor mother. Though she does appear to love having him around. He seemsvery nice, helping her decorate and whatnot. Not that I’m saying porn stars can’t be nice to their mothers.

Carla enters with a basket of garlic bread, and Yvonne follows, carrying a bottle of wine, as well as a glass filled to the brim. Another sister marches in from the other side of the room, phone glued to her ear—the missing Helena? Yvonne offers her the glass, but Helena, still gabbing away, grabs the bottle instead.

“I promise she’s a lawyer, not an alcoholic.” Jeanine frowns after Helena, while the rest of us settle down at the table.

“Not yet, anyway,” Yvonne mutters, spinning around and heading back into the kitchen.

Helena ends the call and collapses into a chair, thumping her head against the wooden backrest. “Why? Why couldn’t I have gotten a double homicide to deal with instead?”

Jeanine heaps a generous portion of lasagna onto my plate, the tantalizing aroma of melted cheese and rich marinara filling my nostrils. Yvonne reappears with another bottle, holding it well out of Helena’s reach as she uncorks it and pours each of us a glass.

“This looks delicious,” I say, cutting into the pasta.

Jeanine beams. “It’s a family recipe.”

I take a bite, and flavors bloom on my tongue. My eyes drift shut as I savor them.

When my lids flutter open, Jake’s stare is hot on mine. Our gazes stay locked for another heartbeat before I avert my gaze, hoping people didn’t notice.

Conversation flows easily around the table as we tuck in. Jake keeps everyone in stitches throughout the meal. It’s clear his family loves him to bits, and I can see why. He teases them with a playful wit that never crosses into cruelty, an incorrigible rascal with undeniable charm.

As Helena starts on another story, I lean forward to grab a roll from the breadbasket. Under the table, my foot brushes Jake’s denim-clad calf. The simple contact sends my pulse skittering, and I jerk back. My knee knocks against the underside of the table, and I wince. Across from me, he smirks, eyes twinkling with mischief. I shoot him a withering glare, which only has the corners of his lips curling up farther, even as he turns to respond to something Beatrice says.

Determined to ignore the simmering tension, I try to focus on the lively chatter. But Jake Cunningham isn’t one to be ignored, and I find myself constantly sneaking glances his way.

Does he sneak out to do his job? Though if sex is his day job, then what the hell was he up to last night? Did he really need more sex? Or does daytime sex not count these days?

Suddenly, I realize Jeanine is asking me a question. Snapping out of my daze, my face flushes under her knowing gaze. “Pardon me,” I stammer, trying to regain my composure.

“I just said Yvonne mentioned you were looking for a job.”

I nod.

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