His One and Only

“Try me.”

“It was this novel, the latest in a series by Clara Quinn—she’s a black sci-fi writer. It just came out and they had it at the library.”

“The new Clara Quinn is out?”

“You know Clara Quinn?”

“What, you think you’re the only one around here who appreciates a well-written book? Half of being a quarterback is traveling to the next game on a plane or a bus, so yeah, I read a lot, just like you.”

He turned away from her. “Or at least I used to.”

She knew better than to offer to order the book for him on Audible, since that went against his order not to offer to help him. But… “Maybe I could read it out loud, and we could enjoy it together?” she asked. “It’s really good, and I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about a Clara Quinn book in years.”

His lips thinned into a mean smile. “So Nerd Book Club isn’t happening anymore?”

And she almost smiled herself, remembering how Beau used to call out, “Hey Josie, Nerd Book Club’s at the back door!” whenever Colin showed up at the service entrance with a stack of comic books under his arm.

“No.” She told him like she told Mindy. “Colin and I fell out of touch.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And your ex-husband didn’t read?”

“Only for work,” she answered, thinking about how often Wayne had derided her for having her nose in a book when she should have been concerning herself with being a better wife and homemaker.

“How about some fried chicken for lunch?” she said, deliberately changing the subject.

He shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Lunch was a much less sexy affair than breakfast had been. Her back in her jeans and plaid shirt. Beau eating his food like it was part of a grim prison sentence.

But when she went to clear the dishes, he grabbed her arm again. Only this time, instead of initiating sex, he said, “Save those for later. Let’s crack open that Clara Quinn novel.”

And just like that, the awkwardness between them lifted. “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott,” she said with a big smile.

They spent the rest of the day in bed, Josie reading out loud, Beau initiating hot bouts of sex whenever she needed to rest her voice for a bit, and them both eating cold chicken in between.

It felt very domestic, like they were taking a fun, naughty vacation from their real lives. Like they were a real couple. It was so pleasant that at times Josie almost forgot she’d been hired to do a job. Almost.

CHAPTER 13

BEAU WASN’T IN THE HABIT of buying sexual companionship. From what he could tell, just about every woman from A-list actresses to hot housewives loved a quarterback and he’d never needed to convince a woman to share his bed, much less pay her. He’d heard about “the girlfriend experience,” and quite frankly, had never understood the draw. Why pay a woman to pretend to be your girlfriend? He didn’t get it.

Until now.

He’d had wilder sex, slept with more experienced women, done kinkier things, but being with Josie was the most intimate thing that had ever happened to him.

The way she touched him with awe and wonder, even though she’d been married before, made him feel like he was teaching her to take as much pleasure in him as he took in her. The way she said, “Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott,” with a little laugh, like what they were doing was more fun than business.

And it wasn’t just about the sex. It was about the way she stroked his hair while she read to him, the way she scooted back into him after they’d , a silent reminder to wrap her in his arms just in case he forgot. The way she always turned the radio to his favorite rock station before she left to fix dinner, making sure he had some form of entertainment he could also turn off. It was also the way she seemed to read his mind when he had business to take care of, excusing herself from the bedroom after she went to use the bathroom, so he could use it, too.

It was almost enough to make him forget he’d heard her once again proclaim her love to Sam after he turned off the shower last Saturday. It was almost enough to make him forget he was paying her to take care of his needs. All of his needs.

Almost.

Eventually it was Friday again, and Mac showed up, bursting the girlfriend-boyfriend fantasy bubble he’d kept Josie and himself in for the past six days.

But Mac’s presence didn’t keep Beau from kissing her after breakfast. And kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her, until Mac cleared his throat.

“If we don’t get going soon, we’re going to be late for your appointment.”

He didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to leave the house for the first time since he’d arrive.

“What are you planning to do while I’m gone?” he asked her, ignoring Mac.

“Go to the grocery store,” she answered with a laugh. “We’re out of everything again.”

“You’re not going anywhere else?” he asked, thinking of the boyfriend she hadn’t seen in over a week.

“I’ll be back before you are,” she said. Then she stroked a hand over his hair. “Don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right, no matter what happens during the appointment.”

“I’m not afraid,” he said. At least he wasn’t afraid of what she thought he was afraid of. He was determined to get his eyesight back and return to the man he used to be, but right now he was more afraid of losing Josie to this Sam before he could make that happen. He cupped a hand around the back of her neck. “I want you here when I get back. That’s not a request.”

A pause. “Okay.” But her voice sounded a little hollow to him, the way it did whenever she was biting back what she really wanted to say.

He kissed her again, reminded her of who had made her come too many times to count this week. He would have kept on kissing her, but Mac cleared his throat even louder this time.

“Let me walk you to the car,” she said.

He shook his head. “Mac can handle that.”

When he got his sight back, he could finally woo Josie the way he wanted to woo her. Bring her out to L.A. and show her the life she could have with him if she just got rid of this Sam joker. Meanwhile, the less Josie saw of him being led around like an invalid the better.

“But I want to.”

“I’ll see you when I get back.” He let her out of his embrace. “Now get.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Prescott,” she answered. But this time she sounded less like she was joking, and more like she was very reluctantly following his orders.

He waited until he heard her go through the kitchen door, before he allowed Mac to lead him outside.

“So you and Josie, huh?” Mac said after they were in the car.

He liked the sound of that. “Yeah, me and Josie. You have anything to say about that?”

“Nope, just fishing for some gossip.”

He was fairly sure Mac was joking, but another dark cloud passed over his thoughts. What would the L.A. gossip rags say if they knew what was going on here? That he was paying a woman from his past an insane amount of money to sleep with him?

“That fish ain’t going to bite,” he told Mac. “So you might as well turn on the radio.”

The mood remained jovial in the car, but it soured soon after they arrived at UAB’s Callahan Eye Hospital.

“Hunh…” Mac said after they were escorted into a room and told Dr. Grant, their neuro-ophthamology fellow, would be joining them very soon.

“What?” Beau asked.

“That nurse led us into an office. I would have thought we’d be doing this in an exam room.”

So did Beau. In fact, instead of saying hello when the doctor came in a few minutes later, he asked, “Shouldn’t we be in an exam room?”

“No need,” Dr. Grant answered. “I’ve looked over the charts your istant Carol sent me, and I can already tell you’re a very promising candidate for the procedure we’re developing to treat cortical blindness with neural stem cell transplantation.”

Beau grinned. “Exactly what I wanted to hear. When do we get started?”

“Get started?” the doctor said.

He sounded confused, which made Beau frown. “You told my istant you wanted to meet with me?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “To talk about how our research might affect your case. As you may or may not know, the Prescott Trust continues to be one of UAB’s most generous donors. However, the money has traditionally been directed toward the School of Business, per your father’s will. I was hoping you might be interested in either diverting some of that ongoing allocation or donating to the Department of Ophthalmology yourself, since you might be able to benefit from the research we’re doing here… someday.”

“When you say ‘someday,’ do you mean someday next month?” Beau asked.