Page 17 of Second Chance to Score

“Fine,” she sighed deeply, something she seemed to do a lot around me. “What’s your condition?”

“Let me cook dinner for you tonight.”

“No.”

“I made my nanna’s brownies...”

Violet

Damn it. If there was one thing I’d missed about Robbie all these years, it was his special brownies. Well, that and the orgasms. The brownies were some secret recipe handed down from his great-grandmother that could only be shared with family members.

These weren’t just any brownies, they were the creamiest, richest, most chocolatey brownies I’d eaten in my life. I used to beg Robbie to tell me what he put in them that made them taste so much better than regular brownies, but he’d always refused, telling me he was only allowed to tell me if we got married.

I swear if we’d stayed together I might have married him just for that brownie recipe. Well, and his impressive oral skills. I’d slept with a fair number of men since we’d broken up – don’t judge me, it had been many, many years – and I knew for a fact that Robbie was gifted in that particular area.

He hadn’t had a lot of experience with it when we first got together – I’d been his first serious girlfriend—but he’d been a fast learner. Robbie ate me out with the same single-minded focus he’d had for playing football. Just thinking about his head between my thighs made my panties grow damp. I wondered if I could convince him to go down on me once for old time’s sake.

Don’t be ridiculous, I chastised myself. You’re broken up, remember?

“What’s for dinner?” I asked him suspiciously. “Besides brownies?”

I wondered if he’d graduated beyond the bologna sandwiches and frozen pizza he used to feed me when we dated.

“I’ve got steaks marinating in the fridge,” he told me. “I’m going to grill them along with some vegetables. Also, I got a loaf of bread from the bakery this morning, the kind you always liked to eat with that salty Irish butter.”

Damn, Robbie really did remember a lot about me.

“Fine, I’ll come for dinner,” I said grudgingly. “But there better be enough brownies for me to take some home.”

“Of course.”

Since I was meeting him at his house, Robbie left the clinic right after his appointment instead of waiting for me the way he’d done after all of his other appointments. I briefly entertained the idea of blowing him off and heading home, but that would just be rude. Besides, I really wanted those brownies.

Robbie’s house was surprisingly comfortable, not the ostentatious mansion one might expect from one of the league’s longest playing athletes. Then again, Robbie had never been a flashy guy. He lived on a corner lot in a house almost completely surrounded by a tall stone wall. I knew this was a security measure as much as it was a reflection of his intense desire for privacy.

I entered the code he gave me, then drove up the driveway and parked behind Robbie’s black SUV. His house had a Victorian design, with beveled windows, and what looked like a turret. Stepping onto the large front porch, I rang the bell.

Robbie answered the door wearing jeans and a Cougars tee shirt. His feet were bare. I don’t know why that was so arousing, but damned if it wasn’t. He had a dish towel slung over his shoulder and his hair looked ruffled, as if he’d run his fingers through it a time or two.

“Hey, welcome.”

He pulled me into the doorway, enveloping me in a hug that felt comforting. He smelled a little like some kind of a kitchen spice that I couldn’t identify. I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight for a long moment.

“Come join me in the kitchen,” he said as we pulled away. “I’m just finishing up with dinner.”

We passed through a large, comfortable living room with a seating area grouped around a fireplace, then walked by a dining room with a sturdy wooden table and six chairs. In my mind’s eye, I could picture Robbie having game night with his siblings here.

They’d always been a close family. I’d loved spending time with them back when we were dating. Seeing Robbie’s family had been proof to me that not every family was like mine. I’d been blown away by the love and easy affection they shared.

The kitchen was large and modern with stainless steel appliances and a cute little breakfast nook that was surrounded by windows on three sides, part of a little pop out in the room that likely wasn’t original.

“I love your house,” I told him honestly.

It was the kind of place I would have bought for myself if I had more money. My family had money of course, but I’d stubbornly resisted touching any of the money in my trust fund. I wanted to get by on my own name, not on the proceeds of my family’s football legacy.

“What’s your place like?” he asked.

I shrugged. “It’s a little townhouse close to the clinic. Nothing special.”