Free Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel by Julie Brannagh Page B

passed out and hit his head. He wasn’t especially steady earlier from lack of food and whatever bug he had, so she hurried down the hallway to check on him.
    Matt’s room was huge, dominated by a king-sized bed in a dark, curved wood frame with four posters. The bed was still neatly made. He probably hadn’t slept in it lately. The nightstands had the typical lamps and books. Amy’s gaze moved over the iPhone docking station that must have been next to the side he most often slept on. An overstuffed wingchair sat in one corner with clothing draped over it, and there was a bench at the foot of the bed; it all sat on a huge braided rug in shades of blue.
    “Matt? Are you okay?” she called out again. No answer.
    He’d left the door open. Steam billowed out of the bathroom. She would take a look, just to make sure he was fine. There was nothing wrong with that. It was the right thing to do.
    Amy inched through the doorway. Matt’s bathroom was a masterpiece of high-end fixtures and surfaces. He, or the builder, had spared no expense on the granite countertops, tile flooring, beveled mirrors, cabinetry, and indirect lighting. The toilet had its own room, complete with padded bench. The shower was bracketed by a luxurious jetted tub, large enough for at least two people. Her feet froze to the floor. She was riveted, staring at the nude man standing in a clear glass double shower.
    Matt looked like a statue she might see in a museum: long, lean, and bronzed from the sun. His arms and legs were covered with wet, silky-looking dark hair, and she saw a tan line on the wrist he wore a watch on. He braced his hand against the shower wall while the water cascaded over his head. It ran over flexing shoulder muscles, the ripple of muscles in his forearms and his biceps, down his back, over his butt and onward. Instead of realizing he was fine and leaving, her feet wouldn’t move. Maybe he hadn’t seen her.
    “If you wanted to take a shower with me,” he called out, “all you had to do was ask.”
    Amy’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me? I was making sure you didn’t drown yourself.”
    “Let me know if that’s working for you.”
    “I heard a crash. What did you think I should do?”
    “I dropped the damn shampoo bottle,” he said.
    He turned to face her. For one shocked moment, all she could do was stare. Run, she told herself. Just go.
    “Come on in. The water’s fine,” he said.
    Her feet unfroze from the floor. She ran out of the bathroom, down the hall, and scooped her purse up off the hall table. She wrenched the front door open, slamming it behind her. She threw herself into the driver’s seat of her delivery van, laying rubber as she drove away.
    Amy glanced into the rear-view mirror. Matt stood in the middle of the street, wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist in the gathering darkness.

 
    Chapter Seven
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    T WO DAYS LATER Amy shut herself inside her tiny office at the shop after locking the front door for the evening. Her brand-new brother-in-law, Brandon, was speaking at a fundraiser for Children’s Hospital tonight. The entire family had been invited to sit at his table. She looked forward to seeing her family, but she wished she wasn’t alone. Being lonely was bad enough. Being lonely in a room full of happy couples was miserable.
    She spent all her time keeping her business afloat. She was great at business, but not so great in the dating and romance department. She realized she didn’t miss Brian as much as she missed the idea of him: someone to talk with and confide in, someone to laugh with. Then again, there wasn’t a lot of laughter toward the end of their relationship.
    Maybe she needed a dog. They weren’t dazzling conversationalists, but they were loyal. They were cuddly. They didn’t break your heart.
    She pulled a black jersey evening gown with a ruched waistline, scoop neck and cap sleeves over her head, brushed her hair into a sleek ponytail, applied some fire