I stand up straight. “How did you know?”
“He’s the only person in a 50 mile radius that can elicit that kind of response.” She shifts on her feet, walking slowly backward, away from me. I don’t want her to go; I’m enjoying myself.
“What are you listening to?” I nod toward her phone in her hand, wanting to keep her here longer.
She smirks, and shrugs, pressing something on her phone and putting it back in her short’s pocket. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then she spins on her heels and starts dancing down the hall. I swallow hard, watching her fine fucking ass bounce with every step. Her body is incredible, athletic but feminine. The dip of her waist flares to hips that shake to the beat of whatever she’s listening to.
I would like to know. I want to know everything about Jenna Nemac.
Jenna Nemac 2.
“Listen up!” I yell to get everyone’s attention. The game is over, and the cheer squad is huddled near the tunnel as the stadium empties. “Every game, every practice, you improve! Today was better than yesterday but tomorrow is always better than today! Let’s hear it for Addy and Daya!” The young men and women whoop and holler and Addy eats it up, like usual, while Daya ducks her head and blushes furiously. For someone as unequivocally talented as Daya Moul, she’s one of the shyest and most humble individuals I have ever met.
And I just met Andres Abbott!
Shush, hussy. It was a chance meeting and he’s just a man.
Shaking off my inner thoughts, I meet Eva Dups’ eyes and give her a subtle nod. As cheer captain, she jumps up to her feet and starts clapping while the rest of them continue to kneel.
“WE ARE?”
“STATE!”
“WE ARE?”
“STATE!”
“I AM?”
I laugh listening to the different responses. Eva has asked this after every game or competition for over a year, and the squadhas taken great joy in coming up with unique and creative responses.
“ANNOYING!” “BEAUTIFUL!” “TONE-DEAF!” My favorite is, “BUILT LIKE A BAKED BEAN!” I don’t know what that even means, but the others find it funny, too.
Eva laughs as she shakes her head. “I am your captain! Your friend! Your backup! And your biggest fan!”
I head to my office while they head to the locker rooms to shower and change. About an hour later, earbuds in, I walk through both locker rooms to make sure everyone is gone. Coming out of the men’s, I stop at the sight of Andres Abbott leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest, thick, long legs crossed at the ankle. He looks out of place in his bespoke black suit with yellow, red, blue, and black tie. He’s also unfairly beautiful and it annoys me. I plaster on a friendly smile and wave while I continue dancing down the hallway back to my office. He walks next to me, a grin stretching his full lips, blue eyes staring back at me above a sharp nose and angular jaw. Ugh. He’s so pretty. I hate it.
He places his arm across my doorway, stopping me from entering my office. It’s frustrating that I’m not frustrated by the move. Could be his endearing toothy smile, or the softness in his eyes, or the pronounced Adam’s apple in his muscular neck that tempts my tongue to trace its shape and bite into it. Nope. It’s none of those things. It must be carbon monoxide poisoning.
I glance up at him, my lips set in a straight line, an eyebrow rising slowly up my forehead. He nods at my earbuds. “What has you shaking that phenomenal ass all over this stadium?”
“Why?”
His eyes flare at my curt response. Undeterred, his smile grows. “So I can download it and think of you every time I hear it.”
“Does that kind of line usually work on women?” He barks a laugh, dropping his arm to push some fly-aways from my face. His touch is tender, warm, and far too fleeting.
“Don’t normally need a line.” Despite the bold eye contact and confident tone, his tanned cheeks pinken. Damn him! It’s cute. Ugh! I don’t have time for cute, cocky, ex-NFL players.
I lean in, purposefully dropping my voice, pushing as much desire as I can into it. He bends down so my mouth is close to his ear, his body like a tightly coiled spring, waiting for permission to move. I smirk to myself, enjoying this little rush of power. I haven’t had a man try like this in a long while, if ever. I get asked out often, not going to lie, but I’m picky about who I date. And while I know this isn’t the case for everyone, when I tell a guy “no”, they respect it and move on.
I let my breath ghost across the shell of his ear, teasing him, liking it far too much when his breathing grows choppy. This is too easy. “Youreallywant to know what moves my body? What compels my hips to sway, my shoulders shake, my feet curl?”
“Yes,” he replies huskily. Instantly. I remove one earbud and place it gently in his ear. I step back slightly to gauge his reaction, and I am not disappointed. Anticipation. Confusion. Amusement. “Is this a documentary?”
I nod. “Yup. The Battle of Leyte Gulf.” I reach up and snag my earbud back, then unlock and open my office door and step inside, placing both of them in their case on my desk.
“The Battle of Leyte Gulf? From World War II?”
