Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel Read online

Amy stifled laughter as she watched the look of abject horror that crossed the face of the frat rat’s friend. He extended his hand to Matt. His voice was sheepish. “I’m a fan. Sorry.”

  Matt shook his outstretched hand. “Thanks.”

  The other guy didn’t seem to know when to quit, however: “So, is Falcon as big of a dick as he seems to be on the show?”

  Sean Falcon was the former Super Bowl-winning, six-time Pro Bowl quarterback of the Welders in the eighties and the biggest star on Pro Sports Network’s Sunday morning coverage.

  Amy heard a burst of male laughter behind them, and Sean Falcon strolled through the bar area with three of his and Matt’s Pro Sports Network co-stars. They’d all been at the wedding. Brandon knew everyone, or at least it seemed like he did.

  “Oh, he’s an even bigger dick,” Falcon called out. “See you later, Stephens.” He turned to one of his companions and said loudly enough for everyone to overhear, “Stephens is at the reception for twenty minutes, and he manages to hook up with a bridesmaid. I just don’t get it, man.”

  Matt lifted one hand over his head with his middle finger extended; everyone laughed, and they were gone. The guys who’d been trying to talk to Amy were struck silent. She gulped down the last of the tequila in her glass.

  “That’s my girl.” Matt signaled the bartender. “Hey, Greg, we need another refill down here.”

  She’d had less than ten hours of sleep in the past three days combined. She hadn’t eaten much in that period of time, either. The flowers for Emily’s wedding took precedence over everything. When Amy wasn’t working on them, she lay awake, brooding over Brian like a lovesick idiot. Sleeplessness, no food, and alcohol weren’t a good combination. Right now she had a definite buzz going from just one drink.

  Matt turned to her as Greg refilled his glass again. She caught Greg’s eye and gave him a nod. In for a penny, in for a pound. Greg poured a shot into her glass.

  “So, where’s your date?”

  Amy had to give him snaps for being observant. The third finger of her left hand was naked as the day she was born.

  She took a sip. “I gave up dating for Lent.”

  “Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice.”

  She took another sip and then swirled the tiny amount of tequila left in the bottom of her glass. The frat rats had evidently found more promising prey out on the patio overlooking the lake, she thought as she watched them lope away. “Yeah, I’m on the wagon.”

  Matt appeared to choke back a laugh. “You’re shitting me.”

  “No, I’m not.” She enunciated carefully, or at least, as carefully as she could. “No dating for me, Sparky.”

  “So, what brought this on?”

  Amy watched Greg’s head snap up as well. He was polishing glasses, but she had his full attention. “Isn’t the bartender supposed to be asking these questions?”

  Matt’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. “He’s busy. I’m filling in for him. You can tell me.”

  “Don’t you have something else to do?”

  “Nothing more important than what I’m doing right now,” Matt assured her. He casually rested one arm around the back of Amy’s chair, while making perfect condensation circles with the bottom of his glass on the bar in front of them.

  “Greg?” she called out. “May I have another drink, please?” Just thinking about Brian made her want to grab the bottle out of Greg’s hand and chug it till it was gone. Brian wasn’t her soul mate by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d managed to break her heart anyway.

  “Are you sure about this, sport? Stuff’s got a kick like a mule,” Matt warned.

  “I can handle it,” she informed him. “Maybe I should order a double.”

  “This’ll be good,” Matt muttered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Greg poured another inch or so of tequila into her glass, and Matt leaned toward her a bit.

  “Nothing. You were saying?”

  The late night, exhaustion, and a fresh drink conspired against Amy.

  “I dumped my boyfriend. Yesterday. I’m done with men.”

  She was lying, but how the hell would he ever know? She wasn’t a liar by nature, but she wasn’t about to confide to a guy who appeared in People’s “Sexiest Man Alive” issue that she’d gotten dumped.

  She lifted her glass. “Let’s drink to single women everywhere.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Greg assured her.

  Matt didn’t drink. “So, you’re hanging it up?”

  “Yes, I am.” Amy tipped her chin up and threw her shoulders back. No self-pity for her.

  “You’re just going to let him win?” Matt insisted.

  “What are you talking about? Win? Are you kidding?” She gestured with her glass. The few drops of tequila slopped dangerously close to the rim. “He moved to New York. I don’t care about him.”

  That’s why she’d watered Emily’s wedding flowers with her tears yesterday, and why she’d had to soak her face in ice-cold water this morning. She concealed her broken heart well. After all, she’d had lots of practice.

  “You don’t say.”

  “He got on a plane this morning. He couldn’t even wait until the wedding was over. Win? That’s insane. There is no winner here.” She took another sip of tequila. “Then again, I’m the winner. Fine. I don’t want him. He doesn’t want me, either.”

  “That’s the spirit, Fifi.” Once again, Matt appeared to be smothering laughter. “I thought you dumped him.”

  “I did. I totally dumped him.” She polished off the last few drops of her drink.

  “So, I take it you’ll be joining a—what do they call it? A nunnery? Maybe there’s some kind of ‘down with men’ club you’re checking into?”

  “It’s called a convent. Didn’t you pay attention during catechism?”

  “As a matter of fact, no, I didn’t.” He captured the bowl of pretzels Greg had just put onto the bar and held it out to her. “I’ll bet you look great in black. Snack?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “So, let’s get back to this whole ‘we hate men’ thing. I’m intrigued. Is it all men, or just your ex?”

  Even with the buzz, Amy knew Matt was teasing her. There was an expression in his eyes she couldn’t read. At the same time she got the feeling he didn’t want to spend the evening alone. He was in no hurry to leave. She didn’t want to spend the evening alone, either.

  Amy let out a sigh.

  “I don’t know what they want. They say they love you, and then they don’t.” She waved her arms for emphasis. “I shower. I’m reasonably nice. I know how to cook, and I’m somewhat financially stable. I’m not clingy, demanding, or crazy. I do not get it.”

  She turned to face Greg. “Greg. You’re a guy. What is it that they want?”

  “Damned if I know,” Greg reassured her. “Who cares about them, though? They’re obviously stupid. You’re hot.”

  “Thank you.” She beamed at Greg, and glanced over at Matt. “I love him.”

  “You’re not helping me right now, Greg,” Matt informed him.

  Greg moved down the bar a bit. Matt took another sip of his drink, and turned to study Amy. How could he drink so much more than she had, and still appear to be sober? This was just another of life’s inequities. He patted Amy’s hand.

  “So, sport, what are we going to do about this?”

  “Do about what?”

  “You shouldn’t be running around in public alone.”

  “I am harmless—”

  This time, Matt laughed out loud. He threw his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. The sound bounced around the room.

  “It’s late.” He leaned closer to her. “Maybe the best thing to do is to make sure you get home safely. Let’s try that first. Do I need to call a cab?”

  “No, no.” She shifted on the barstool. “I have a room upstairs. I’ll be fine.”

  “Got it. Well, Fifi, I think you
’ve had enough.”

  “Nope.” She waved the snifter at Greg the bartender, who took it out of her hand before it went flying. Her reflexes were somewhat unsteady, but she knew exactly what she wanted. “More.”

  “How about a cup of coffee instead? It’s on the house.” Greg was all efficiency. Matt slid his credit card across the bar, and Greg scooped it up. “I’ll make a fresh pot, just for you.”

  “No. No coffee.” She held up one hand like a traffic cop. “More tequila.”

  “Not tonight. Let’s leave some for the other customers,” Matt said, and rose from the barstool. He and Greg had some sort of murmured conference. He signed the receipt, and took Amy’s elbow. “It’s time for you to get some sleep.”

  “I’m not tired. Are you tired? I don’t want to go to bed yet.”

  Her feet wouldn’t reach the floor. She couldn’t figure it out. Plus, the dress had a mind of its own. She couldn’t seem to get it untangled from the barstool. One minute she was sliding off the barstool, the next minute she was toppling over. Matt caught her in his arms. Again. It probably had something to do with the fact she also managed to put the stiletto heel of her sandal through the tulle that made up the underskirt of the gown.

  “I can walk,” she protested. Man, he smelled good, like fresh air and laundry soap. She was a little more buzzed than she thought.

  “I’m helping you.”

  “I don’t need your help.” She heard the tulle rip as she yanked the underskirt away from the heel piercing it. “Fixed it,” she informed him proudly.

  “Where’s your room?”

  For some unknown reason this was hilarious. She had an overwhelming impulse to giggle. “Upstairs,” she managed to choke out.

  “Do you remember which floor you’re on?”

  The room was tilting. Was there an earthquake? Nobody else seemed to be worried.

  “Of course I do.”

  Matt pulled the black evening bag out of her slack fingers, opened it, and examined the room key. “No room number.”

  “It’s on the third floor. How hard could it be to find, anyway?”

  She tried to move away from him. Though the tulle had torn away from her heel, the dress still wound around her ankles. She pulled it free, reached out to grab her purse out of Matt’s fingers, and attempted to walk. She grabbed at one of the barstools in an effort to right herself.

  “That dress is dangerous. Come on, Fifi. I’ll walk you to your room.” Matt took her elbow.

  After a series of trial and errors, Matt and Amy managed to find her room before hotel security was summoned. The keycard only worked in the correct door, so they didn’t disturb anyone else. Amy pushed the door open, and Matt followed her inside.

  “Thanks for walking me back to my room, but I’m okay now. Really. You can leave.” She held the door open with one sandaled foot and pointed into the hallway with a somewhat unsteady finger. “Out.”

  Matt actually snickered. He still held her elbow. He marched her across the room, plopped her into the easy chair by a sliding glass door, opened it a bit, and tossed his jacket on the bed.

  “I’m going to buy you a very large glass of water and a couple of aspirin. You need to get it all down.” She tried to push herself out of the chair. He was having none of this. “Just relax.”

  The room was spinning, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Amy realized that she had a much more immediate problem. Her dress had thirty small, fabric-covered buttons down the back. How was she ever going to get this thing off by herself? Plus, it wasn’t smart to ask someone else she didn’t know, no matter how cute he was or how many times she had watched him on television, to half-undress her.

  Matt was on the phone with room service, and she stood up from the chair. For some reason, it didn’t feel like she stood up straight. She felt crooked. She shoved the slider further open, and ventured out onto the balcony overlooking Lake Washington.

  Matt was on the balcony in a flash, too. He surprised her by grabbing both her shoulders in his hands.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “It’s cold.” The chilly air slapped Amy in the face. “Why are you still here?”

  “I’m earning another Boy Scout merit badge.” His voice was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “I’ll leave when I know you’re settled in for the night.”

  She grabbed the balcony railing with both hands. The sky shouldn’t be spinning. “There’s just one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I . . . I can’t get this dress off by myself.”

  She heard a low chuckle in her ear. “You know, I’ve heard this happens to other guys.” He moved closer and murmured, “Dear Penthouse: She begged me to take her dress off.”

  “I can handle this,” she stubbornly insisted. “Never mind. I don’t need your help.”

  “You’ll be wearing that dress for the next week if I don’t help you, sport. Let’s see here.” Matt’s fingers grazed the top button.

  “We’re outside and it’s dark. You can’t even see.”

  “I work by braille,” he assured her. “How’d you get this on in the first place?”

  “My mom helped me.” Emily and Amy’s mom had some colorful things to say about Vera Wang by the time she was finished. “People will see us! We should go inside—” She felt cool air on her skin as another button opened.

  “Well, Mom’s not here now, is she? Dizzy, Fifi?”

  Amy’s knuckles showed white as she held the balcony railing in a death grip. Matt’s warm breath tickled the back of her neck. His scent filled her nostrils—fresh air, clean skin, some musky stuff that must have been him, because it wasn’t like any other men’s cologne she’d ever smelled before. It mingled pleasantly with the cool night air.

  Her hands slipped off the balcony railing as his quickly moving fingers set her free from a smooth prison of fabric. Of course, the building mood was shattered instantaneously. He stepped on the ripped underskirt at the back of Amy’s dress, she lost her balance, and her arms flailed as she fell against his chest. She also managed to get him in the gut with one elbow.

  “Damn, Fifi, what the hell was that?” he wheezed.

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you! It was an accident! I—”

  He grasped her forearm for balance. “You’re just a menace, aren’t you?”

  Amy left her dress in a pile on the bathroom floor. Her slip, pantyhose, and bra followed it. She’d get the hairpins from her former updo out in the morning. She washed her face with soap and water, wriggled into the t-shirt and shorts she brought from home, and walked back into the room once more.

  A tray with water, pain relievers, and a napkin-draped basket waited on the computer desk. The scent of freshly baked bread made her mouth water.

  “Sleepy,” was all Amy could get out.

  “I’ll bet. First, though, let’s have some bread. It’s still warm.” He held out the basket. Matt looked more delicious than the bread: He had perfect muscles; he smelled good; he was taller than she was, which was always a good thing.

  “Sleepy,” Amy repeated. “It’s time for bed.”

  Before she knew it, she was tucked up in the bed, alone. He was explaining something to her. All she had to do was concentrate.

  “I’ll leave the light on . . .” His words floated back to her from somewhere in the room.

  “Thank you.” She rolled onto her side, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Realizing Matt was still there, she forced her eyes open and attempted to focus on his face. “Do you always rescue women?”

  “Only the beautiful ones,” Matt assured her.

  Everything was wonderful. As a matter of fact, everything was perfect. She was finally horizontal. The room didn’t spin as long as she lay perfectly still.

  Matt sat down next to her. It took a few minutes, but she realized he was slowly pulling the pins out of her wrecked hairdo. He was still talking.

  “Just sleep. It’ll all be
better tomorrow.”

  “No, it won’t. Brian left.”

  “Who’s Brian?”

  “He’s a lawyer.” Amy let out a gusty sigh. “I don’t like lawyers.”

  Matt let out a snort. “I don’t like them, either.”

  “I shouldn’t be sad about him.” She flipped onto her back, squeezed her eyes shut to stop the spinning, and threw a forearm over her eyes.

  “No, you shouldn’t, Fifi.”

  “I hate men,” she insisted. “Well, except for you.”

  Matt made a sound somewhere between a choke and a chuckle. He sounded like he was smiling, though. “It’s good to know that. Why don’t you get some sleep, huh?”

  “Why were you late to the wedding, Matt? You should have been there.” If she could get the bed to spin in the same direction as the room did every time she moved, it would be a good thing. “It was perfect. Emily was so beautiful. The food was really good, and Brandon was so funny during the toast, and . . .”

  Matt interrupted her. “I hate weddings.”

  “Why? Too mushy, or no tequila till the reception?”

  “Someone always gets married.” Matt was still carefully extracting the pins from her hair. Amy opened her eyes to see him studying her for a long moment. “Do you like weddings?”

  “I have to go to a lot of them because I do the flowers. But, truthfully? I’m not sure I like them, either.”

  “I thought all women liked that stuff.”

  She wrinkled her nose and tried to shake her head before deciding it wasn’t the smartest move. “Nice stereotyping, Sparky.”

  “Come on. You know I’m right.”

  “It’s not the wedding so much as the rest of it. Mostly I want a family. If I have to go through it to get one, I will.”

  They both fell silent for several minutes. Amy was half-asleep. Strangely enough, it was comforting to hear Matt speak, and listen to his breathing in the darkened room. She had the vague thought that maybe she should be keeping an eye on Matt. He was a stranger. It wasn’t good to be alone in a hotel room with a stranger. Plus, she was telling him about Brian. She was going to give this some serious thought later on. At the same time, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open longer than a few seconds at a time.