“Anyway,” he continued, as if I wasn’t picturing his smooth abdomen bisected by a dark happy trail leading down into his swim trunks. “It sold as a ‘Chef to the NFL Stars’ kinda deal, so I was going to talk to you about it before signing the final papers to make sure you were okay with it. I don’t have to mention your name or anything. I can always use my dad and brothers as my example, but it’s still public knowledge I work for you.”
I kept my hand on Mike’s shoulder and ran a thumb up the side of his neck. When I realized what I was doing, I jerked my hand away and stepped back.
“You can use anything you want of mine, including my name. It’s going to be amazing. I’m so excited for you. What do you need from me to make it happen?”
Suddenly, I was hit with a horrific thought.
“You’re not quitting.”
I didn’t even have the balls to form it as a question.
Mikey’s eyes widened. “No. Jesus, no. That is… not unless you want me to?”
I shook my head emphatically, unable to form the simple word around the temporary rock of fear lodged in my throat.
He grinned again. “Good. That’s settled. No, I just let go of my catering clients for now so I could focus on the book without letting any of your stuff go. Before each recipe, there will be some text explaining the science behind why the recipe is ideal for top-performing athletes and how it can be adapted for mixed audiences or nonathletes. I’ll use my catering time to write instead.”
“That sounds great,” I said sincerely. “Your dad must be proud.”
Mikey’s face darkened. “I haven’t told him yet.”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “He’s not going to be supportive. He’s going to tell me I shouldn’t give proprietary or helpful information of any kind to his competitors. He seems to think part of the reason the team has been in better shape these days is because, and I quote, ‘Those bozos are spending so much time at Raine’s house they must be picking up a thing or two about nutrition.’”
It was true, but I decided not to say that out loud. I valued my nuts too much.
“No offense,” I said, “but you didn’t invent nutrition. Any other team can get—and already has—nutritionists on staff. So that’s bullshit. I hope you know that.”
Mikey moved back over to the other side of the island to get the lemonade pitcher out of the fridge again. “I know that. It’s why I didn’t let fear of his reaction stop me from pursuing my dream. But I still don’t want to tell him until the project is further along.”
“Understood. It’s your business, and you’re an adult.”
Mikey poured more lemonade into my cup before delivering the killing blow. “So I was kind of looking forward to getting away to focus on writing and tinkering with some of the recipes. If we stay here…”
He didn’t have to say it. Our house had become a revolving door of friends and family over the years. Most of the time it was great. We both thrived having people around, but if you wanted to be alone, our house wasn’t the place to do it.
“Okay,” I said. “If Coach said it’s okay, and if I can get the games on TV, we’ll go.”
He looked at me with an expression that said, “What kind of fool do you take me for?”
“Tiller, every cabin I picked has Wi-Fi, a big-screen TV, and satellite service. We’re not going to Siberia.”
I flipped through the options and stopped when I saw the one with the nicest gourmet kitchen. It also happened to be farthest from Denver. Win-win. “This one,” I said, pulling the printout from the folder and handing it to him. “And book yourself in first class next to me. Don’t make me upgrade you at the gate like every other fucking time. It annoys the crap out of me, and you know it.”
“Fine. We leave tomorrow. This time pack more than just sweats.”
“That was one time, asshole,” I muttered. “And you had nicer clothes for me in your bag anyway, so it wasn’t a problem.”
He laughed and pulled a bottle of white wine out of the fridge for him and Sam. “I’ll need to borrow one of your winter coats. I don’t own one.”
I stared at him with my mouth dropped open until Mikey started laughing. “Kidding. God, you’re gullible. I had to buy a thick down parka two years ago when we went to Minnesota for that charity exposition thing. I don’t expect you to remember since you were so busy bitching about the game. The game for charity.”
“Tom Billing’s an ass,” I grumbled. “Ever since I accidentally spilled coffee on him during that interview a million years ago, he refuses to throw the ball to me. Ever. Remember that pro bowl game where he literally threw it at the coach instead of me? Prima donna.”
Mikey shot me a look. “You deliberately removed the coffee cup lid and tipped the drink onto his shoes.”
I opened my mouth to disagree, but he continued before I could get a word out.
“While saying, ‘Maybe if someone lit your feet on fire, you would actually leave the pocket for once.’”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Was I wrong?”
His face softened into a laugh. “Not really. But you probably ruined a thousand-dollar pair of shoes.”
“As if he’s paid for a pair of Nikes in his entire life,” I scoffed. “Please.”
“He called me the other day. Did I tell you?”
I stared at him. “Tom Billing called you?”
Mikey looked offended. “He likes my muffins.”
I imagined the handsy quarterback setting his sights on Mikey. The man was straight as far as I knew, but Mikey was sexy enough to tempt anyone who had even a teaspoon of bi-curious in him.
I picked at my fingernail and sniffed. “I’m sure he does.”
Mikey’s grin was adorable. He had this little tiny half dimple next to the left side of his lips. I’d always kind of wanted to kiss it. Just a little bit.
“The protein ones with sneaky veggies,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said anything. “He wanted the recipe after his housekeeper tried recreating it with no luck.”
“You’re not giving it to him, I hope.” I took a sip of my lemonade and watched him over the rim of my cup.
“I will if he lets me call them the Tom Billing Power-Up Muffins in the cookbook.”
Before I had a chance to ask him if we could stop talking about Tom Billing, Sam came in.
“Rico’s on his way. You have any wine?”
Mikey nodded and waggled the bottle he’d already pulled out. Then he turned and pulled one of the bottles of ice water out of the fridge he always had ready for me.
“Here, switch to this for dinner. You’re behind on your water intake.”
Sam met my eyes behind Mikey’s back and mimicked his lecture. Mikey didn’t even turn around before calling him on it. “Cut it out, asshole. Do you have any idea how much I get paid to tell this princess when to drink his water?”
“Too much,” Sam said. “I drink plenty of water without having to pay a single person.”
I shot him the bird and tried not to show how hurt I was at the reminder Mikey was here because he worked for me.