Sure it did. If looking like a sweat-streaked nervous wreck was considered sexy.
He managed to turn the ribs. Grace had suggested a simple dry rub of brown sugar and chili powder, and it had coated the meat just like she’d promised. He checked the internal temperature with the meat thermometer she’d suggested he purchase, and sure enough, they were finished. After arranging them onto the platter by the grill, he went inside to grab the spinach salad, knowing Natalie wouldn’t want too much food for their main course. No, she was a woman who liked to save room for dessert, and tonight he’d planned something special.
Moments later, they were sitting at the table, eating their dinner. “The ribs are excellent,” she said as she threw one of the bones into the bowl he’d set in the center of the table. “See. Aren’t you proud of yourself?”
He felt like he’d just thrown his first touchdown. “Sure. Glad you like them.”
She’d done most of the cooking in their marriage. He could make simple things like bacon and eggs and grill steaks and cook baked potatoes. He wanted to ask if she’d wished he’d cooked more. Had their division of labor seemed unfair to her? He’d always taken out the garbage, hadn’t he? Whenever she cooked, he’d do the cleanup. They’d agreed to let a cleaning lady do the major stuff. It was yet another conversation they couldn’t have yet.
“Salad’s good too,” she added like she was trying to string together a conversation out of torn shoelaces.
“You open a bag. Pour the dressing on. It’s not hard.”
Her cool blue eyes met his, pleading with him to keep up his part of this delicate conversation.
“Ah…I haven’t asked you. Have you met any poker players yet?” It was a dumb question, he realized. The Grand Mountain Hotel was a poker destination, and her boss was a poker player. So was her brother’s fiancée.
She brightened and threw another bone into the bowl. “Well, no one makes quite the impression Rhett does. Have you met him yet?”
Since he didn’t wander around Dare Valley much because people tended to either ask for an autograph or curse him for retiring, he hadn’t. “Not yet.”
“Well, I’ll have to introduce you.” Then she stopped short, and he knew she’d only then realized she was implying they would go out together—in public. Or to a family gathering. Something he knew she wasn’t ready for.
His stomach gurgled again. Touchdown even gave a short bark and cocked his head at him. He was now sitting in the chair next to Natalie’s so she could eat.
“Goodness, are you still hungry? How many miles did you run today?”
“Ten,” he answered, pressing his hand to the center of his stomach where the pain was most persistent. Shut up, he told it.
“Ten? Wow. I guess you go full out when I’m not holding you back.”
Because he needed to burn away all his sexual desire somehow. He desperately wanted to reach for her hand. “You’ve never held me back, Nat.” How many times do I have to tell you that?
She looked away and continued to eat, no longer attempting to string together a conversation. He did the same, picking at his food. In truth, his body did need fuel after the punishing workouts he’d been putting himself through. When they finished the meal, the flickering torchlights were the only sound between them.
He reached for her plate. “I can clean up.”
“But you cooked.”
Memories of them kissing as they attempted to load the dishwasher filtered through his mind. Even cleaning up with her had always been filled with laughter and fun. And sometimes, they hadn’t finished the dishes. He’d simply pick her up and take her to bed.
He was starting to sweat again. Maybe he could duck in and change. Then he realized she’d notice. Great. He’d have to be more Machiavellian than that. He moved his plate a little to the left so it would knock his champagne over. It fell to the table, the liquid running toward him and soaking the lower part of his shirt and pants.
“Oops,” he said. “I’ll just take these in and change. You relax. Switch the music if you’d like. I’ll get dessert after I’m cleaned up.”
He tried to smile to deflect the puzzled expression on her face; then he picked up all the dishes he could carry and headed back inside. He had never been so happy to be soaked with champagne, not even after a championship victory celebration with the guys in the locker room.
He dumped the dishes into the sink as best he could without breaking them and then jogged to the bedroom. Changing and adding some deodorant should take no more than two minutes flat. He sniffed his armpit as he stripped off his shirt and winced. God, he was vile. As a man who expended sweat for a living, he knew there were different kinds. Usually his was a clean sweat from a hard workout, but this…this was the sour odor of fear and nerves.