It’s creepy AF.
“Start with the tuna roll.” Quinn points to a seaweed wrap containing pink fish and rice. She sounds so hopeful. I want to enjoy it, if only to make her happy. “It’s like entry-level sushi. You can dip it in a bit of soy sauce for added flavor.”
I pick it up with my chopsticks and shove it in my mouth before I can overthink it.
The seaweed wrap is surprisingly crunchy, and the rice has a hint of vinegar that isn’t so bad, but then the tuna hits my tongue andnope.
I chew quickly and chase it down with a long drink of water.
Quinn chuckles. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Maybe we could start with something a little less fishy,” I suggest, popping a bit of ginger in my mouth to cleanse my palate.
“How about a California roll?” She picks up a roll that’s coated with rice and seeds and offers it to me with her chopsticks. “This one has—”
“Don’t tell me.” It’s probably better if I don’t know what’s inside.
I take the bite and I’m pleasantly surprised to discover it contains avocado, but then I hit a spongy texture that can only be crab and I’m out. Not even the prospect of Quinn feeding me every roll on the plate is enough to continue.
I choke it down—because I’m not a complete heathen—and drain my water glass.
Quinn chuckles. “I take it that’s a no, too?”
Dammit. This night is turning into a complete disaster.
“I don’t know what I was thinking.” I scrub a hand over my face. “All I wanted was to take you on a proper date and I’m screwing it up.” I gesture to the California roll, feeling like a complete asshole. “I can’t even handle the most basic item on the menu.”
“You haven’t screwed anything up. It’s the thought that counts, and it was really sweet of you to give sushi another try.” She laughs and nudges me under the table with her foot. “Besides, if you’re not eating, that just means more for me.”
“Eat up.” I’ll gladly watch, as long as she’s happy.
“So,” she says, picking up a piece of the dragon roll. “Only one more regular season game to go.”
“Maryland should be an easy enough game.” I drag a finger through the condensation on my water glass. “Most of the seniors are already looking forward to bowl games and the guys who want to go pro are looking for agents, if they don’t already have them.”
Quinn chews slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. “Do you have an agent?”
“No. I need to keep my plans to go pro quiet as long as possible. My father will take it as a personal insult that I’m not following in his footsteps, and my mom doesn’t need to deal with the fallout.”
“Won’t that hurt you when it’s time for the draft?” she asks, picking up a tuna roll.
“Sweetheart, I’m one of the best wide receivers in the country.” Number three, to be exact. “I won’t have any trouble finding an agent when the time comes.”
Quinn takes a delicate bite and I fill the silence.
“Coach Collins has been great about letting scouts in to watch practice and, thanks to Reid, I’ve gotten looks from guys all over the country. As long as things don’t go sideways, I’ve got a damn good shot at a first-round draft pick.”
“You just said you’re one of the best receivers in the country.” She frowns. “You don’t think any of the scouts come to see you?”
I shrug. Probably, but it’s not like I can chat them up and find out. I’ve been very careful not to express interest in going pro, both on camera and off. “It doesn’t matter either way. There are always teams looking for receivers. I’ll find a spot.”
“Who’s your dream team?”
“My dream team?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know, the team you’d play for if you could pick any team in the league.”
I honestly don’t know. I don’t have the luxury of worrying about coaching staff, or winning records, or any of the normal stuff. Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. The draft will determine my new home.
