Tense.
Nervous.
Of me? Or of what she feels?
Maybe I should turn around, finish getting changed, and go home to my empty house.
But I don’t.
Instead, I move carefully down the hall, stopping a couple of feet away, leaning back on the opposite wall.
Giving her plenty of space to escape.
But, God, I hope she doesn’t want to.
“Hey,” I say when she doesn’t look at me.
A flash of blue eyes that are so fucking beautiful they take my breath away. “Hey,” she murmurs back.
And…silence.
A million things pass through my mind in an instant—questions to ask, statements to break the quiet that’s fallen between us, poetry to recite—and instead, what comes out is…
“Do you like hot dogs?”
Okay.
Seriously. What the fuck, Madden?
This is charming?
It’s fucking inane.
Kylie goes still.
Then her head lifts again, tilting slightly to the side as her eyes come back to mine…and hold.
And inane or not, the blurted-out question gives me this?—
A glimpse of the bright, mischievous woman beneath the shy.
“Hot dogs?” she asks, eyes sparkling.
I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet…and also like I’m hoisting the Cup again.
At the same time.
“Yeah,” I say, doubling down because at this point I have no choice but to double down. “Hot dogs.”
Her lips twitch. “I’ve been around locker rooms far too much to take that bait, Colt.”
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” A beat. “Definitely.”
“Well, maybe it was just an innocent question about the only meal I know how to cook,” I counter.
“Liar.”
