Fourth Quarter: A Sports Romance (Salt Lake City Stallions Book 4) by K.T. Quinn

Author:K.T. Quinn [Quinn, K.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

22

Dominic

Once I was alone, I thought about Cami all night. The way she had pushed me into discussing my motivations, or lack thereof. The way she had leaned toward me on the couch, lips turned up in a pout, begging to be kissed. In most situations with women, I was fearless. I flirted and smiled and then when the time was right, I made my move.

But tonight, with Cami, I had hesitated. Why?

Unlike most of the women who came and went in my life, I was afraid of messing things up with her. Despite the annoying origins of our professional relationship, I liked having her around. I had grown accustomed to her presence. Maybe even fond of her. And because of that, I knew making a move would change things, probably for the worse. If I made that move, if I crossed that line, there was no going back.

What shocked me the most was when my mom showed up. At first, Mom gave her the rough side of her tongue the way she did all the women in my life. But as soon as she realized Cami was more than that… she softened toward her. For a few minutes, it seemed like the two of them were bonding over their shared annoyance of me.

And it kind of made me happy.

That was the weird thing about it all. As soon as I saw them together, I realized that I desperately cared about what my mom thought of Cami. I wanted Mom to approve of her. I had never felt that way about any of the other women I had been with, neither as an adult nor when I was making my way through the cheerleaders in high school.

Mom came over the next morning with six bags of groceries—which she refused to let me help carry inside for her. She quickly set to work in my kitchen.

“Mom, what are you doing?” I asked.

“Prepping your meals for the next week,” she replied simply.

“They have food for us after practice. And I can order whatever I want for dinner. It’s easier than cooking myself.”

She replied without slowing down her preparations. “I don’t trust the chemical-laced foods they’re probably serving you boys. What you need is a proper home-cooked meal.”

I stared at the pile of chicken breasts she was tossing into a bowl to marinate. “That’s about fifty home-cooked meals.”

“Go on, get out of my hair. I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need you hovering like a housefly. Go do whatever it is you do on a normal morning.”

Despite her insistence, Mom had no problem letting Cami help her in the kitchen once my personal assistant arrived. I sat on the couch feeling useless while they baked ten pounds worth of chicken tenders, three enormous batches of green bean casserole, and enough roasted onions and potatoes to feed all of Ireland. Greta laid down in the middle of the kitchen where she could guard against any accidental food droppings.

“I don’t know where you intend to store all of this,” I said.

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