6. Dane

6

DANE

“Tell me again why you’re cleaning the refrigerator like you expect Grandma to show up and lecture you for not closing pasta sauce jars properly?”

I pull back from where I’m hard at work, scrubbing the sticky red residue from the fridge’s top shelf, and meet my younger brother’s amused expression with a glare. “I already told you. The team nutritionist is coming by today.”

And I don’t want Morgan to think I’m a slob.

Not that I think she could have a lower opinion of me. The sexy brunette has been nothing short of cold with me the two times we’ve interacted since her boss assigned her as my nutritionist.

“Right.” Eli hops up and sits on the edge of the kitchen island, cocking his head to the side as he observes me. “And why does her opinion matter so much?”

“It doesn’t.” I turn my back to him and return to work.

“Oh, I get it.” My brother laughs. “The nutritionist is hot, isn’t she?”

The hottest woman I’ve ever seen.

I thought Morgan was beautiful the moment I first saw her at Carter’s barbeque, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her after we shared that mind-blowing kiss in the middle of the crowded dancefloor. A kiss that clearly didn’t affect her the same way—based on how she’s acted since seeing me again.

I huff a non-committal sound and keep my face turned toward the fridge, but my nosy younger brother doesn’t take the hint.

“Oh, man. This is fantastic. You’re finally getting back on the horse after bitch-face Chelsea. Good for you, man.”

“I got back on the horse a long time ago,” I huff.

“You’ve hooked up with girls, but when was the last time you had a real girlfriend?”

I look over my shoulder and glare at Eli, but he doesn’t care.

He continues, “Oh, that’s right.” He snaps his fingers. “Since bitch-face Chelsea.”

I shake my head at the unflattering nickname, but I don’t bother reprimanding him for it. Chelsea was my college girlfriend, and her behavior towards the end merits the insult.

Before I can come up with a response to thwart Eli’s growing interest in Morgan’s impending arrival, the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it!”

“Cameron Eli,” I whirl around and hiss, channeling my mother’s way of using our full names to convey the depth of her disapproval.

He’s unaffected.

Eli bounds to the front door like a mischievous puppy. I swear, I can’t believe he’s in his twenties. He acts like a kid.

I run a nervous hand over my hair and roll my shoulders back, bracing myself to withstand the gusts of disapproval Morgan is sure to blow my way.

The door opens with a. click. “Hi! I’m Eli.”

“Um. Hi? Do I have the wrong house? I’m here to see Dane Larson.” Morgan’s sultry voice, low and warm, travels down the hallway, making my pulse quicken. It’s the same reaction I have every time I speak with her. I’d hoped it would lessen with each interaction, but if anything, it’s only getting stronger.

“No, you’re in the right place. I’m Cameron Larson, Dane’s brother. But my friends call me Eli.”

“Oh.” Morgan sounds surprised, but she quickly gathers her composure and replies, “Nice to meet you. I’m Morgan.”

“Nice to meet you, Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh?”

Eli, you bastard.

I turn the corner and draw up short. Morgan wears a stunning emerald cocktail dress that cinches at her waist, flaring out over her long legs, cutting off just above the knee. Her brown hair is twisted up into an elegant updo at the base of her neck. Curled tendrils frame her face, and her stunning features are highlighted by blush on her cheeks and a neutral sweep of eyeshadow on her eyelids. Her brown eyes are framed by dark, thick lashes.

Damn. I swallow the lump in my throat. She’s fucking gorgeous.

“Dane.” The polite smile she wore when speaking to my brother falls when she sees me. “Sorry, I’m late. I got stuck in traffic.” She adjusts the notepad, phone, and keys in her hands.

“No worries.” I inhale a quick breath. “You look… nice.”

She looks down at herself. “Oh. Yeah. I’m going to a wedding after this.”

“By yourself?” I thought I’d kept the question in my head, but her raised brow revealed I didn’t.

Smooth, Dane.

“Now, who is the nosy one, Dane?” Eli tsks.

I latch onto the out he gives me. “You’re right. My bad. Would you like to come in, Morgan?”

She blinks. “Yes. Thank you.” She crosses the threshold and kicks off her nude heels when she sees the row of tennis shoes lined up by the door.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her she doesn’t need to worry about that, but I keep my mouth shut and turn on my heel. “The kitchen is this way.”

“So, Morgan, are you from the Dallas area?” Eli stays by Morgan’s side and makes small talk as they follow after me.

“Sort of. I grew up in Rose Hill. It’s a few miles out of the greater metro area.”

“Nice.”

“Do you live here, or are you just visiting?”

I lean against the counter by the fridge and cross my arms, content to eavesdrop on their conversation and give myself time to brace for my next interaction with Morgan.

She rattles me like no woman ever has.

“I live here,” Eli answers. The pair arrive in the kitchen, but their attention remains on each other. “I’m actually hoping to get an invitation to the Ranchers’ training camp this summer to try out for the team.”

“That’s exciting. Have you played in the NHL before?”

“No, but I played in college.”

“Where?”

“Wisconsin, much to my older brother’s disapproval.”

I snort. “I didn’t give a damn where you played.”

Their eyes finally turn towards me. I focus on my brother, but I feel Morgan’s stare like flames licking the stubble on my cheeks.

My brother grins. “I know. I’m just joking. It was Dad who despised my choice of school.” His lighthearted expression dims at the mention of our father, but it brightens once more when he turns to Morgan.

“Right now, I’m training to make sure I’m ready, but I’m also working as a manny to get some extra cash so I don’t have to freeload off my successful brother.”

I’ve told Eli more times than I can count that I have no issue with him staying with me and helping him get on his feet. But Eli is proud. He wants to make his own way. It’s respectable, but the big brother in me wishes he’d just let me help him out while he focuses on his goals.

“Wait…” Realization floods Morgan’s beautiful expression. “You work for Carter Jones, don’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“Carter’s sister is my best friend.” She smiles at my brother. The sight robs me of breath. I remind myself to breathe before she notices.

“No way?” Eli shoots me a glance. “What a small world.”

“Yeah.” Morgan looks my way, too. She licks her lips and then averts her gaze. “Mind if I look in your fridge and pantry to make a quick list of groceries you’ll need for meals this week?”

“Sure,” my voice comes out lower than I intended. I clear my throat and wave a hand around the gourmet kitchen that’s lost on someone with my cooking skills. “Knock yourself out.”

Morgan dips her chin. “Thanks.”

She sets her phone and keys on the island and takes the notepad over to the pantry door that’s already open. She turns on the light and slides a pen out from between the pages as she looks at the items on the shelves. She begins to make notes.

I try not to stare at her as she works, but just like every time I’m around her, it’s impossible. There’s something magnetic about Morgan’s presence, and it goes beyond her physical appearance. Though, that’s what drew me to her in the first place.

But what really piqued my interest in Morgan was hearing Carter talk about her.

Carter told me about Morgan’s drive and how he felt bad that she was struggling to find a job. He confessed that he offered to help her by making introductions with people he knew on various sports teams, but she refused. Morgan insisted on making it on her own. Kind of like Eli wants to do.

I’d felt respect for the beautiful woman I’d never spoken to. So, when I saw her at the club that night, I refused to let the opportunity to meet her pass me by. I gave in to the pull, drawing me to her.

Apparently, that was a mistake. One I’m suffering the consequences of as I stand here, admiring her lean, fit figure, hiding the evidence of how attracted I am to her by adjusting my shorts.

“You have a lot of processed snacks.” Morgan glances over her shoulder. My gaze snaps up to hers before she realizes I’d been admiring her legs.

“You think?”

She huffs and tucks her notepad under her arm, then starts to take out two boxes. She holds them up in demonstration. “Fruit snacks and cheese crackers.” She lifts a brow.

I shrug. “They’re good.”

She returns the boxes and retrieves two more items. “Nacho cheese chips and marshmallow cereal?”

“They’re good, too.”

Beside me, Eli chuckles. He muffles the sound when Morgan’s disapproving glare lands on him before sliding back to me.

“You’re a professional athlete, Dane. Your body is a machine. It doesn’t matter if you have muscles on muscles. You need to give them proper fuel if you want them to function at peak capacity.”

My chest puffs out at her appreciative description of my body.

It deflates with her next words. “No wonder the team is concerned about your endurance.”

The reminder that the quality of my game time performance has been called into question grates my nerves. I haven’t made one damn mistake all year. That’s not an exaggeration. All sports reporters point to me winning the Hart Memorial Trophy at the end of the playoffs, regardless if the Ranchers make it to the finals. My season has been that good.

For the Ranchers to criticize me in this way really ticks me off. So much so that when my agent told me teams were sniffing around about whether or not I’d be available for a trade, I told him not to outright discourage the idea.

Unaware of my internal seething, Morgan continues to take note of the items in my pantry before moving on to the fridge.

I’ve never been embarrassed by my food choices, but my body tenses when I hear her snort at the sight of the jug of mango orange juice on the top shelf.

The entire time she works, Eli tries to catch my attention. I ignore him. My little brother is a menace. He’s the only person I told about what happened at the club. Not even Cam saw us make out on the dance floor. He’d been too preoccupied trying to find Morgan’s friend to shoot his shot.

I didn’t tell Eli Morgan’s name, but I did say I had a moment with a friend of a friend, which will likely bite me in the ass sooner rather than later.

A balled-up paper towel hits the side of my face.

I scowl at Eli. Knock it off. My glare says.

Make me . His says back. Then, he looks meaningfully at Morgan and mouths, “ Is that the girl?”

“Shut the fuck up,” my lips form in response.

“Okay.” Eli and I abandon our silent argument as Morgan turns around. Once again, I’m taken aback by how attractive she is as she focuses those wide brown eyes on me. “What’s your chef’s number? I’ll text him or her my meal plan for the week sometime tomorrow.”

Eli barks a laugh.

My features tighten.

“What?” Morgan looks between us. “What am I missing?”

There’s no point in beating around the bush. “I don’t have a chef.”

She blinks. “So… who cooks your meals?”

“I do.”

She blinks again. “ You do?”

“Cooking is a loose term for what transpires in this condo,” Eli remarks.

“Shut up,” I growl.

My annoying brother just laughs.

See what I mean? He’s an absolute menace.

“But…” Morgan hesitates, floored by the information. “That doesn’t make sense. Almost all high-level athletes have professional chefs. At least during pre-season training and the actual season.”

“Yeah, well...” I shrug. “That’s never really been an area of concern for me.”

She mutters something inaudible under her breath. Based on the exasperated hand she runs down her face, I assume it’s not flattering.

“I don’t think you’re cooking skills are up to par for the meals I want you to add to your diet.” She chews her bottom lip as she thinks. “We need to get you a chef as soon as possible.”

I snap my eyes up from her mouth. “Is that really necessary?”

I’m not interested in hiring someone for a job that requires them to regularly be in my space. I like my privacy, and the more people you let into your space, the less privacy you have.

Hell, I don’t even have a maid. Hence, my fridge has sticky residue from sauce jars.

Megan takes a deep breath, preparing to speak, when her phone buzzes on the island.

“Excuse me.” She walks over and looks at the screen flashing with an incoming call. I’m too far away to see who it is, but Eli isn’t. His eyebrows lift. I resist the urge to demand to know why he looks like that.

Megan denies the call but swiftly picks up her phone to type a text. She hits send and then puts the phone back on the counter, this time with its face down.

“Sorry about that.” She inhales a breath and then meets my gaze. I’m caught off guard by the imploring look. “Listen, I know this stuff isn’t your kind of thing, but I was given a job to do, and I want to do it well. If we hope for my dietary plan to make any sort of noticeable impact, then yes. It really is necessary for you to hire a chef.”

My budding objection fades from my lips. As much as I don’t want to invite a stranger into my home, I want to disappoint Morgan even less.

“Fine.” I sigh. “Give me a list of options, and I’ll hire one.”

Her shoulders slump, relieved. “Perfect. I’ll get that to you first thing in the morning.”

“In the meantime,” Eli joins the conversation. “Should he stick to his normal diet? Or will you be able to give him a modified plan that he can prepare for himself?” There’s a mischievous gleam in my brother’s eye.

“No.” She frowns. “That won’t work. Playoffs start in two weeks. We need to get you eating right as soon as possible.”

“So, what do you suggest?” Eli presses.

What is he aiming at?

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to butt out when Morgan blows out a heavy breath and says, “I guess I could act as your chef. Just until we find you a qualified chef.”

I snap my mouth closed.

Now that sounds like an interesting proposition.

I try not to reveal my feelings about the idea when I say, “If you think that’s the best option, then I’m game.”

She gives a reluctant nod. “Okay. I’ll pick up groceries tomorrow. Do you mind if I come over in the afternoon to prep the meals? I’d do it at my place, but my kitchen is pretty small. And I could use the extra counter space you have here.”

Again, I try to hide my true reaction. “Yeah, that’s fine. Just text me when you’re heading over.”

Her eyes harden, and her voice is flat as she says, “I don’t have your number.”

“I’ll give it to you.” Eli grabs her phone and holds it up to her face to unlock the screen.

She stares at my brother, surprised by his bold behavior, but she doesn’t stop him from opening her contacts and typing my number into the phone. He also adds his own number and tells her to reach out to him if she can’t get ahold of me.

“Dane is known to leave his phone in random places.”

“Great. Thanks.” Morgan takes the phone from him and then picks up her keys from the counter. She hikes a thumb over her shoulder. “I should get going.”

“Of course.”

She avoids my gaze as she turns and walks out of the kitchen. My brother and I follow.

As she slips on her heels, I brush past her and open the door for her. She keeps her head tucked down. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The moment the front door closes, Eli blurts, “Your nutritionist is the vixen from the club, isn’t she?”

“Shut up, man,” I hiss, eyes darting nervously to the matte black door. Morgan’s retreating figure doesn’t falter through the foggy glass.

I exhale in relief.

I had a feeling Eli had linked Morgan with the woman from the club. I should have kept the story to myself, especially considering the ending involved me being tricked by the beauty who had just left my condo.

But I’d been too eager to tell someone what happened that night.

So when Eli called the next day to catch up, back when he was still in Minnesota, I told him everything. I didn’t know that he’d eventually be moving down to live with me. Or that he would ever come face to face with the woman who lit a fire in me that I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumble and make my way back to the kitchen. I busy myself with pouring a glass of water. I don’t think anything else in my fridge would meet Morgan’s professional dietician approval.

“No? Fine. But let me ask you this, did you know she’s friends with Joshua Chen, the first baseman from the Lonestars?”

My forehead furrows. “How do you know that?”

His grin can only be described as antagonizing. “That’s who called her.”

What?

Carter’s sister is engaged to Corey Johnson, the Lonestars’ pitcher, so it tracks that Morgan would’ve met Joshua Chen before.

But why is he calling her?

Are they dating?

Is he the one she’s going to a wedding with?

“No, I didn’t know,” I answer my brother’s original question, ignoring the spiraling thoughts that try to take hold. “And I don’t care.”

Maybe if I tell myself that on repeat, I’ll actually be able to believe it.

No chance, Larson. My subconscious wastes no time in squashing that foolish hope. You’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.