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  Warning: Please note this novel contains explicit sexual content and crude language and is intended for mature audiences. Parental/reader discretion is advised.

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  Cover designed by Taylor Roth

  https://www.southernsidedesigns.com/

  Editing provided by K. Donald

  Proofreading provided by Kennedy Preston

  Publication Date: December 21, 2020

  Snowed In with the Quarterback

  Copyright ©Christy Pastore 2020

  All rights reserved

  FROM THE DESK OF AUTHOR CHRISTY PASTORE

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Amy

  Today is not off to a good start.

  My mom’s voice rises up like the Ghost of Christmas Right Now in the back of my mind. “You should’ve left when I told you.”

  Christmas Eve, Eve and I’m stuck in a New Jersey airport.

  Alone.

  Tired.

  Hungry.

  Yeah, I should have left the day before yesterday like she suggested. And maybe I should’ve listened to my brother, Alex, when he suggested I fly out yesterday morning with him, my sister-in-law, Ella, and their kids.

  Nope, work was more important.

  I blame the weather people. They kept changing the snowfall totals. Not only that, it was supposed to be a light dusting. Born and raised in Michigan, lake effect snow is nothing. I’ve driven in worse conditions than this.

  Pfft. Meteorologists.

  As long as I’m blaming people. I’m going to add my psychic to that list. She neglected to tell me that this would be the storm of the entire winter.

  Why didn’t she see this coming?

  Truth be told, I should’ve stopped seeking her advice years ago. Sure, she’s been right about a few things—job and health stuff. But Michele missed the mark on the tall, dark, and handsome man that I was destined to meet and fall head over heels in love with.

  Oh, sure there have been a few men. None of them were exactly tall. Not a one of them had dark hair...light brown maybe chestnut. Not jet black.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I tear open the wrapper on the Almond Joy and bite into it. I swipe my phone and then tap the screen, wavering between getting a hotel room or just staying here.

  The Marriott is right next door. Will the bar be open? Because I’m thinking getting blitzed is a good idea. Or is it lit?

  Cranberry martinis and me…after three…hammered is what I’ll be.

  The gate agent’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Flight 1212 from Dallas has been rerouted and is now arriving at terminal A, gate 18.”

  Guess I won’t be totally alone tonight. Maybe there’s a tall, dark, and handsome cowboy I can chat up. I take another bite of my candy bar and watch the gate agents open the door for the passengers. These people will either spend the night here or try to maneuver through the snowy streets.

  Stretching my arms over my head, I stand and walk to the trash can. I toss the candy wrapper into the bin and amble back to my chair.

  The bag of nacho cheese Doritos is my main course for tonight’s Christmas Eve, Eve dinner.

  Ugh.

  All I can think about are my mom’s homemade mashed potatoes and that yummy ham that was waiting for me. Let’s not forget the rolls that no doubt my adorable niece and nephew helped Nana make.

  Should have left earlier.

  My head falls back, and I keep the tears at bay. I focus on the lines that decorate the ceiling.

  The faint sounds of chatter and shuffling directs my attention to the people spilling into the seating area.

  The opening notes of “Santa Baby” play over the speakers.

  I start to hum along and that’s when I lock eyes with Mister tall, dark, and handsome.

  Holy...silent night.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up.

  Dark, sexy waves that touch just below his scruffy jawline. Buttoned up white shirt underneath a leather jacket and untucked from dark denim jeans that stretch tight across his thick thighs.

  Casual, yet commanding.

  Same as he was back then. My first crush just walked off a plane and back into my life.

  Fate? Karma—she’s having a good laugh right now.

  He blinks at me. Oh, he recognizes me all right.

  “Amy. Amy Robertsen.” His gravelly voice washes over me, and my heart skitters in my chest. Despite the fact that my cheeks feel like they are on fire, I manage to smile.

  “Hi, Spencer.”

  He takes a seat next to me. My cheeks are outright smoldering.

  Those blue eyes, deep and knowing, travel across my face and down my body before returning to my eyes. Slow, so achingly slow I can feel every inch of me through his gaze.

  Spencer Ward, my high school crush. We have history.

  You had one kiss. One brief moment. Hardly history.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “My flight was delayed then canceled,” I tell him. “So, I’m spending the night here.”

  “No way,” he shakes his head. “I can’t let you stay here. Come on.” He nods over his thick shoulder.

  I managed to fly under the radar in high school. While Spencer, he soared above and beyond. Star of the football team. The quarterback. The guy who won two state championships.

  “Oh, my god, are you Spencer Ward?” a young woman’s voice squeaks out.

  He smiles that slow heart stopping smile and I want to roll my eyes. It’s the same smile that got me pinned behind Santa’s Workshop at the mall.

  The afternoon where he kissed me.

  If only I could forget him. Forget the kiss.

  But when your first crush is famous—it kind of stays in your orbit. Permanently.

  Spencer turns to face the young woman. �
��I am. How are you doing?”

  She smiles and brings up her phone. “Really good. Do you mind if we take a photo?”

  “Not at all, after all it’s Christmas.”

  All I can think is that it is Christmas, so the man should have one night off where he’s not smiling for the cameras.

  He poses for a picture with her, which leads to another and another. I’m nearly finished with my bag of Doritos by the time he’s done signing autographs.

  “So, how about it?” he asks. “My place is about thirty minutes from here.”

  My brows scrunch. “Your place? Don’t you live in Manhattan?”

  “I’ve got a hotel suite during the season near the stadium, but I bought a place in Hollybend. Less expensive and quieter.”

  Spencer Ward lives in Hollybend? Hollybend is one of those hidden gems, near enough to the city but with a far-removed feeling. It has a quaint town square that's like a throwback to another era.

  “The view is pretty spectacular.”

  My view is pretty spectacular. If I thought Spencer was hot in his tight pants and glistening with the slightest bit of sweat on TV...the live in person version is so much better.

  I chew the final chip and swallow. “I’ll bet.”

  Spencer blows out a deep breath and wraps his hand around the handle of my luggage. “Let’s go, Amy. I’m not letting you eat food from a vending machine especially when it’s Christmas Eve, Eve. Let me make you something that doesn’t have artificial Red 40 as a main ingredient.”

  “Artificial Red 40 sounds like a play call. Besides everyone knows the first three ingredients listed on the package are the main ingredients. Red 40 is like a secondary ingredient.”

  He smirks. “Listen I love Doritos as much as the next person, but it’s not a meal. Let’s get you something with a little more substance.”

  And I thought his post-game interviews were enough to make me ovulate. The way Spencer talks about food is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard.

  His gaze floats around the room and I follow his line of sight. That’s when I notice the man who was sitting by the window ten minutes ago has moved to the row of seats behind us.

  A chill creeps up my spine, and I realize that staying at the airport alone isn’t the best idea. And seeing as my brother, Alex is in the security business, he’d chew me a new one if he found out that I stayed here alone.

  “Okay,” I agree and scoop up my carry-on. “Are you sure the roads are safe?”

  He laughs. “You seem to forget that I was born and raised in Michigan. A few inches of slick snow are no match for me and my Range Rover.”

  A tiny smile pulls at my lips. “Yeah, I hear you on that.”

  We trek along the walkway and then make our way down to the baggage claim. As we descend the escalators there’s a man in a black suit holding a sign with Spencer’s name on it.

  “I was under the impression that you were driving?”

  He smirks. “It’s my vehicle, but Donnie, he’s my driver. Used to be a Formula One racer. I trust him with my life.”

  My feet land on the tile and Spencer’s hand cups my elbow leading towards Donnie.

  “Put that fucking sign in the trash, you dick.”

  Donnie laughs. “This is just a precaution to make sure that you can still read. You took three sacks in the game the other night. Monday. Night. Football. Just testing your vision.”

  “I can see your face. Maybe you’d like me to punch it?”

  Donnie slaps Spencer’s thick shoulder. “Ouch. Don’t be touchin’ this mug. Who’s your lady friend?”

  “This is Amy Robertsen. We grew up together, back in Michigan. She’s another Cranbrook Prep elite, like me.”

  I huff a laugh. “Elite? I don’t know about that, but it’s nice to meet you, Donnie.”

  “You too, Miss Amy.”

  After Spencer grabs his suitcase from the carousel, we make our way out to his Range Rover. It’s barely snowing, now. But there’s a good eight inches on the ground. I’m sure this is just the calm before the storm.

  While Donnie loads our luggage into the cargo area of the sleek black SUV, Spencer and I climb into the backseat.

  “Heated seats—nice touch,” I tell him.

  “I did a promo for the company and they insisted on the custom feature.”

  “Hmm.”

  My fingers curl into my palms and I feel the tension rise in my shoulders. As Donnie pulls into traffic. I love snow, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about driving in it. The tiniest weave, bobble, and slide has my heart thumping against my ribcage.

  When I was sixteen, I was in a car accident. Nothing major, but it totaled my car. I hit black ice on a bridge, and it sent me slamming head-on into a guardrail.

  Still scares me to this day, even though I’ve never had an accident since.

  Knock on wood.

  Spencer and Donnie chat the entire time about the game. I had been working late with a client and missed Monday Night Football. I’m surprised Alex didn’t text me. But with two kids, I’m not sure how much that cuts into his football time.

  Donnie maneuvers the snowy streets without much trouble and before I know it, we’re turning into an underground garage.

  “This is The Granite building.”

  Spencer smiles. “It is.”

  “I love the architecture of this building.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “I have a client who lives here.”

  “Interesting. What do you do?”

  “I’m a management analyst. Companies hire me to tell them what they could be doing better. Ways to improve their businesses and increase profits.”

  “That’s interesting.” Spencer opens his door.

  The man apparently likes the word, interesting.

  Donnie unloads our luggage and then carries it up to the elevator, which Spencer tells him that he doesn’t need to do. But Donnie just waves him off.

  “Thanks for picking me up. Now get home safely and enjoy the holiday.”

  “Merry Christmas to you both,” Donnie says and then walks towards a bright red car parked a row behind Spencer’s.

  “Merry Christmas,” I squeak out.

  The elevator arrives and Spencer motions for me to step inside first. We sail up to the penthouse where Spencer slides his card into the keypad and keys in a five-digit code.

  We step into a grand marble foyer with an ornate gold chandelier that illuminates the entire space. The elevator opens right into his place.

  Wealth doesn’t intimidate me. My family has plenty of it and so does my brother and his wife. We’re all what you call, Trust Fund Babies. Unlike most, I enjoy working. Sure, I could jet off to remote locations and buy Birkin’s by the dozen, but that doesn’t make me happy.

  And it sure as hell doesn’t help feed the homeless.

  Or help military families.

  Alex is a retired veteran. He and Ella host an annual charity fundraiser and they always hire me to plan the event. I’m good at planning events. It’s kind of a hobby.

  “So, this is the place.” Spencer extends his arms and holy crap the wingspan on this man.

  When Spencer turns to face me, I avert my eyes upward. The ceilings soar with exposed wood beams. The floor to ceiling windows offer panoramic views of the Manhattan skyline. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

  A large glass fireplace separates the living room from the dining room. Everything that isn’t glass is wood. Everything that isn’t white is accented with greys and dark hues of blue.

  “It’s really spectacular,” I tell him.

  The only thing missing is the spirit of Christmas. No tree. No lights. No stockings. Just a bunch of unopened envelopes and a sad looking red poinsettia on the island.

  Nothing here feels like Christmas.

  Back home, I have two trees. One in my basement and one in my living room. I love Christmas. I’m the woman who starts listening to Christmas music the day after H
alloween. The chill in the air and the frost on the ground. I get all nostalgic when the lights go up on Main Street. And I’m not even mad when the stores start to fill up with all things Christmas.

  I’m a traditional watcher of the Charlie Brown Christmas special. Or give me some popcorn, a glass of wine, and a comfy blanket and I’m settling in for a Hallmark movie marathon.

  “Make yourself at home. I’ll get started on dinner.”

  He cooks? In this kitchen. It looks like it’s never been splattered with marinara sauce or dusted with flour.

  His kitchen is made for holiday baking. There’s a ginormous island in the center for cater prep and a chopping block for convenience. Not to mention every appliance is gleaming stainless steel.

  “You want some wine?” he asks, nodding at something behind me.

  I glance over my shoulder to find an entire wall of wine behind a case of glass.

  “Wow.”

  He smiles and pulls a saucepan from the cupboard. “Go pick a bottle.”

  I walk across the room eyeing a bottle of my favorite Louis Martini cabernet. “Red or white. What are we having?”

  “My famous spaghetti Bolognese.”

  “Famous, huh?” I feel my brows rise as I stare at the wall of wine. “How about this Barbera wine from Italy?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Spencer pulls up the recipe on the touch screen as I pour the wine.

  Upbeat jazzy Christmas music filters through the space as he chops the onions and heats olive oil in a large pan. I sit at the island sipping my wine, wondering how the hell I ended up in Spencer Ward’s penthouse.

  My eyes flick to the windows. Oh yeah, the measly blizzard.

  Things could be worse. I could be sleeping with one eye open at the airport.

  At least I’m here with a friend.

  A friend?

  You haven’t seen Spencer since high school. Well, besides watching him on TV every Sunday afternoon. Monday night. Thursday night.

  Just enjoy this for what it is and put anything else out of your mind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Spencer

  The meat begins to brown, and I add in onion, garlic, along with some beef bouillon.

  Even though I feel like I rarely have the time, I enjoy cooking for other people. Sad really, given the fact that I’m very much a bachelor and the only family I have is my sister, Indira. She lives in Tennessee with her boyfriend, Trey.