Down & Dirty (Lightning 1)

The guy’s a total foodie, probably would have been a chef if he wasn’t a football player. He’s currently scouting ideas for his first restaurant and normally I’m more than willing to check places out with him. But, “I can’t. I’m looking at houses today.”

He sobers immediately as thoughts of Heather press down on both of us. “Oh, yeah. How’s that going?”

“So far it’s been absolute shit.” I can’t help thinking about Emerson as I say it. “But it’s looking up.”

“Yeah, well, if you need any help, want a second opinion or something, let me know. I’m happy to go with you.”

Again I think of Emerson. “It’s still early days yet. But thanks.”

He nods, then shrugs into his XXXL T-shirt. I shake my head as I watch—the man really is a giant. Not that I’m complaining, considering size is the most important part of being a left tackle. Well, that and really quick feet.

The Lightning—and I—are really lucky Tanner’s got both and then some.

I forget about him, and the team, as I head out to the car. I should be thinking about houses, about my niece and nephew, about finding them the best home I can. And I am. I really am. But I’m also thinking about Emerson, with her crazy hair and crazier curves.

For the first time in a long while, I can’t help looking forward to what comes next.

Chapter 11

Emerson

“Do you need some help with that?”

I look up from the computer where I’m struggling to figure out how to work the damn database to find Alice watching me with sympathetic eyes. I want to tell her no, that I’ve got this, but I’m pretty sure she’d see through the lie. Plus, I’m getting desperate. Kerry will be back from showing houses any minute and I want to have this done before she gets here.

Yesterday, on her way out the door—after keeping me busy with a bunch of obviously made-up work—she dropped a file on my desk filled with more eight-figure homes. Most of them were beautiful, all of them were extravagant and none of them looked anything like the kind of house Hunter described to me.

I took the file home, then spent the evening combing through San Diego’s MLS listings, trying to find a house for him that he would actually like. I found twenty possible ones, ten of which I think he might actually like. From the pictures listed, I fell in love with three of them—one in La Jolla, one in Coronado and one farther up the 5 freeway in Del Mar. All are right on the water, all are well within Hunter’s price limit and all are within thirty-five minutes, in good traffic, from the stadium.

The only problem is, I have to set appointments up to see the houses. And while I managed to set three appointments up last night, all of the other listings require that we go through an online database to make an appointment. And, for whatever reason, the online database hates me. I’ve tried following directions, googled suggestions and still can’t get the system to take any of my requests.

I’m about ready to tear my hair out, especially since I know Kerry will be here soon. So, pride be damned. “Yes,” I tell her, sounding pretty much as desperate as I feel. “Please. I can’t seem to figure out what I’m doing wrong here.”

“Here, let me see.” Alice grabs the roller chair from the closest empty desk, and scoots it up to me.

I roll my chair back, grateful letting her get as close to the ancient desktop PC on the receptionist’s desk as she can get. It only takes a minute before she says, “Oh, I see what’s going on.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“The system isn’t recognizing your license number. Let me enter mine and see

if it works.”

“I don’t understand,” I say as the screen opens up for her like magic. “I know Kerry added my license into the system when she hired me. So I could practice, and so I could make appointments for her when she’s running short on time.”

“Yeah, well, looks like she changed her mind,” Alice says ruefully.

“God.” I close my eyes, lay my head down on the desk. “She really hates me.”

“She really does.”

I lift my head just high enough to glare at Alice. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”

“Do you want me to waste time making you feel better?” she asks as she picks up my notes and enters the first address into the database. “Or do you want me to help you make these appointments so you can sell the best-looking quarterback in the NFL a house and make enough money for yourself and Kerry that she’ll forgive you?”

“Umm, the latter. Very definitely the latter.”

“That’s what I thought.”