Page 25 of The Sweet Spot
I could see Jill was thinking and about to probably burst my bubble.
“How are you going to pay for it? I know I sound snarky, but I’m trying to be practical. If you need help …”
I’d figured Jill out a long time ago, and she neveroffended or pissed me off. Jill was one of those people who said it like it was. Rarely did she sugarcoat a situation, and I loved her for that.
“Jan said she’d do it pro bono.”
“That’s great,” Tangi said. “How very generous of her. You lucked out there.”
“I know, because lawyer fees would kill me right now. I’m still trying to get on my feet.”
Brandon had paid me for my first month of work, and a chunk of that went to paying back my parents for airline tickets, moving costs, and what I could of my previous legal bills. Another chunk went to paying Tangi and Ethan for the condo fees. That left me with a bit of money in the bank but hardly enough to pay a lawyer’s retainer and feed myself. Thank the heavens for Jan.
“I know everyone gives Brandon a hard time, but he really is a good guy. This is another example of it,” Tangi said.
“I just like that you’re sticking it to Daniel.”
Good old Jill.
I passed around my samples since my friends were going to be the guinea pigs. They both loved them, and as we walked, the subject changed to the Kodiaks. The wives and girlfriends, WAGS, as Tangi called them, were planning some events. Something about a toy drive for Christmas, and it became abundantly clear that I wasn’t part of that. Tangi would never purposely exclude me, but based on the fact I wasn’t a wife or a girlfriend, I really couldn’t participate. She and Jill got into a deep discussion on who should do what, and who could be relied on. I listened along, feeling left out.
By the time we reached the cars, the subject had changed again to a fashion show being put on by the WAGS, which neither Jill nor Tangi wanted to participate in. Once again, I was on the outside looking in, wishing—but never admitting—that I would kill to be Brandon’s girlfriend. The more they talked, the more I thought about him. He was smart, funny, nice, and he had helped me out when he didn’t need to. And he also happened to be the hottest man I’d ever met. But guys like him didn’t go for cute: they went for Tangi.
“We are both on for the game next week? I think it will be fun,” Jill said.
“It won’t be a problem for me as long as the nanny agrees.”
Yes, I missed this so much and couldn’t wait to spend more time with my friends.
Brandon got home from his short road trip, and I had a late-night dinner saved for him. He hadn’t played in the first preseason road trip game, but he had in the second. The team had flown out right after. Even though the Kodiaks provided a meal on the plane, Brandon was always less than impressed by it, so I’d left for him a quinoa bowl he could either heat up or eat cold. It was packed with sweet potatoes, veggies, and my secret omega-rich sauce.
When I’d gotten up the next morning, he had sent me a text that he’d loved it.
Since I was finally used to my early mornings, I showered, changed, and headed over to his place to make him breakfast. At first, when I’d accepted the job, I’d worried about how hard it would be with all the long hours, but I couldn’t wait to go to work! My routine was set. I’d be at his place between six-thirty or seven, easily avoiding the unbearable morning rush hour in Vancouver’s never-ending traffic, and then I’d stay to make him breakfast and lunch. I’d head out late morning to hang out for some hours alone doing things I enjoyed or just unwind a little and enjoy Vancouver’s mild weather, then I’d head back to hisplace around one o’clock to work on his two dinners: one he ate before he left for a game, and one for after a game. On practice-only days, I had more time to myself in the afternoon since he would eat later in the day. But no matter what his schedule, I loved my job more than I’d ever loved my restaurant, and that hurt a little. I’d loved the Oak. It had been my dream, my baby, but it had also been my biggest failure, and just the thought of it now carved a hole in my heart. Even in the beginning, I’d never loved it as much as I loved being Brandon’s personal chef.
I tiptoed into his condo, careful not to wake him, though he was a pretty sound sleeper. I dropped a pan once, and it hadn’t woken him up.
I set down some groceries and quietly put them away before starting breakfast. According to his schedule, he had an off day, which usually meant carbing up, so breakfast was going to be a sweet potato hash filled with grilled vegetables, a protein smoothie, and a fruit salad. He loved sweet potatoes and told me he could eat them every day, so they were on the menu often. I planned to top the hash with three eggs sunny-side up. As an added carb, I placed two slices of whole-grain toast on the side. Sometimes, I used tofu instead of eggs, but today seemed like an egg day.
I guess I had been so quiet that when Brandon came into the kitchen, I scared him. He gasped a little, then laughed when he realized it was me. I found myself frozen in place because Brandon was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black shorts. I don’t think I even blinked as I tried not to ogle him.
“I didn’t hear you,” he said. “You were so quiet this morning.”
“Yip,” I squeaked instead of saying yup. The man was a Greek god, or what I imagined a Greek god to be. The chiseled muscles, the light smattering of chest hair because he didn’t give a damn about being hairless, the sleepy look on his scruffyface, and his blue eyes staring back at me inquisitively. Damn it, I was staring. Possibly drooling.
“Smells good,” he said, stepping past my unmoving form as if my feet were suddenly cemented to the floor. “I’ll get some coffee.”
I snapped out of my lusting daydream. “Right. Yes, it’s made. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”
He needed to put a shirt on because he was distracting me. How could he be so magnificent? I wanted to reach out and touch every muscle on his chest. No, I wanted to do more than that.
“Do you like hotmus? I mean, hummus.” I wanted to die right there.
“I like hummus. Is hotmus some kind of spicy hummus?” he asked innocently.
I wanted to vaporize at that moment from the embarrassment. As for the hotmus, I should have lied and said it was. “No, but maybe yes?”
“I love a bit of spice, so it’s good either way.”