Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,2

out on a stretcher.

“I won’t,” Brandt said after a reflective pause. “I plan to play for another two years and then I’m out.” Aziza, Jordan’s soon-to-be wife, had renegotiated his contract for three years instead of five. He wanted to retire at thirty-five while he was still at the top of his game. He’d entrusted his legal affairs to Aziza Fleming after he’d asked his teammate Alex whether his sister would be willing to negotiate his contract extension. Aziza proved her worth when she’d stood firm on what she’d wanted for her client, and in the end he’d been rewarded by becoming the highest-paid quarterback in the league.

Jordan exhaled audibly and stood up. “I guess I’d better finish getting dressed.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“Is the Pope Catholic?” Jordan replied.

“Damn,” Brandt drawled. “You’ve always been cool and calm, never let anyone see you sweat. What’s up with you?”

A wry smile spread across Jordan’s face. “When I woke up this morning, I finally realized the enormity of what it means to become a married man. It’s no longer about what I want or need, but also what Zee wants and needs. We’ve talked about starting a family, and it scares the hell out of me when I try to imagine being a father. Will I be too hard on my kids, or too easy? And what if I have girls? Do I chase away every boy who looks sideways at them?”

“You have a long time before you have to worry about your daughter going out with a boy,” Brandt said. Jordan nodded.

“I don’t know about your father, but every time my dad saw me with a new date he’d say, ‘think of her as your sister.’ Do you how that can mess with your head? Once, I did go out with a girl who reminded me of my sister, and even though I’d wanted to sleep with her it never happened.”

Jordan chuckled. “That’s what you get for dating blondes. They’re all going to remind you of your sister.”

A sheepish expression spread across the quarterback’s face when he smiled. “Some really weren’t natural blondes.”

“That’s why I prefer brunettes,” said Jordan. “I’ve never been surprised once we decide to take our relationship to the next level.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I get involved with a woman.” Brandt waved his hand dismissively. “Thanks for coming to check on me, but I think I’m good here. As soon as I’m dressed, I’ll come down to see you.”

Jordan checked his watch. “I’ll see you downstairs in twenty minutes.”

Brandt nodded.

Aziza Fleming had hired wedding planner Tessa Whitfield-Sanborn of Signature Bridals and Event Planners to plan the ceremony, which was being held in the Wainwright mansion, as well as the cocktail reception in the small ballroom and dinner and dancing in the larger ballroom. Although the well-known wedding planner was on maternity leave, she’d agreed to oversee Jordan and Aziza’s wedding since Jordan’s law partner had been her husband’s law school mentor.

Brandt reached for the gold monogrammed cufflinks, a gift from Jordan to his groomsmen, and fastened them to the French cuffs of his shirt. Then he reached for his tuxedo jacket and slipped each arm into the sleeves. He stopped to contemplate his cousin’s wedding, unable to understand why once their children reached a certain age, their mothers suddenly became obsessed with marrying them off. Brandt had to assume it had something to do with wanting grandchildren.

Lately he’d had to suffer through his father’s lengthy discourses about taking responsibility for his actions. What he hadn’t wanted to mention to his father was that since he’d become sexually active, he’d never slept with a woman without using protection. If he wasn’t ready for marriage, then he was even less prepared for fatherhood.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed on the quarter hour. Everyone in the wedding party had been instructed to meet in the antechamber on the second floor overlooking the entrance hall at five forty-five. Leaving the suite, Brandt walked the length of the hallway to a rear staircase. The groomsmen were huddled together, waiting for their boutonnieres, which were fashioned from miniature white roses and lilac. The sound of feminine laughter floated from a nearby room.

There had been two rehearsals—the first time for the wedding party to familiarize themselves with the logistics, and the second time to confirm that everyone knew what they were to do. Brandt and Jordan were to enter the foyer through a hallway leading from the west wing of the mansion.